Trials of The Stone
by RagingCassowary
Summary: (Book 1 of my new series, this is a rewrite of The Philosopher's Stone from the very beginning.) Harry Potter is no stranger to extraordinary events, having had to deal with them all his life, but it isn't until he boards the Hogwarts Express and leaves his old world far behind that he discovers just how special he truly is.
1. A Day with The Dursleys

**A/N: **_I'm sorry to anyone who was reading _The Best of Friends, _I know many of you were enjoying it and I was greatly enjoying writing it, but I simply don't know where to take it next. I feel I may have tried to push too many ideas into one story and now I have no idea how to tie them all together, so unfortunately, it is unlikely I will be continuing that story. On the plus side, I came up with a brilliant idea for a new story and this time I'm going even further back than before. This is going to be a long rewrite of all seven books, from start to finish. The story will begin similarly to how the canon story did, however the rules of the world are very different, especially in regards to magic. I will try to avoid making too many OC's as I don't think I'm that good at writing them, but one or two may show up with a minor role. Pairings have not yet been decided, but I have a few ideas ready for several different pairings and I will try to go for the ones which feel most natural for the characters. This first chapter isn't too different from canon, but the differences are important. I hope you enjoy the reading._

**A Day with The Dursleys**

There was nothing remotely special about Privet Drive. To the naked eye, it was the same as any other street one might find in the area of Little Whinging. The houses and gardens were all perfectly maintained to the point of uniformity, the only obvious defining features being the difference in cars which sat upon the driveways and the small brass numbers affixed to the doors. If one were to look closer, perhaps they would notice small differences in these structures, such as the single chipped tile from the roof of Number 7 or the battered welcome mat which sat outside the entrance to Number 1. Regardless of this, you would be forgiven for believing that Number 4 was just as unimportant as those around it. The second house on the left hand side, Number 4 was as bland and unimaginative as the rest of the street. The lawn was better kept and the car more expensive, but it boasted nothing to show that was in any way unique.

The house was the residence of the Dursleys, a family of three. Vernon Dursley was a beefy man with hardly any neck and an impressive moustache. He was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. Vernon was a very proud man, particularly of his job, as he should be, for one thing he was very good at was shouting at other people to do things for him. Many people found Mr Dursley to be intimidating, but nobody could deny that under his iron fist the company had become far more successful.

Another aspect of his life which Vernon regarded with great pride and affection was his family. His wife, Petunia, was about as far as one could be from the appearance of Mr Dursley. She was tall and thin, with a neck which was already large and made to look even more so by the presence of her husband. Petunia Dursley was a woman of very little ambition or passion, in fact she was perfectly content with her role as the mother and housewife of a successful family. She was, however, insatiably curious about the goings on around her. Be it through gossip, magazines or craning her neck over the fence to spy on the neighbours, Mrs Dursley would always find a way to poke her nose into everything she shouldn't.

The last member of the family was their son, Dudley Dursley. There is very little to say about Dudley, for he was merely a boy of one. Dudley was larger than average for his age, just as Vernon had been when he was younger, and it was clear that he would not resemble his mother when he was grown. While some babies enjoy grabbing or biting or throwing, the youngest Dursley took pleasure from hitting things. Whether it was the table or walls or his mother, there were few things in the house that had not felt the pounding of Dudley's tiny fists.

Again, there was nothing at all about this house which marked it as a place where strange or impossible things may happen. However, this is where our story begins, in this very house on the 2nd of November 1981.

The day began in a way that was typical for the family. Petunia was the first to rise and prepared breakfast for the three, before waking Dudley and proceeding to wrestle him into his high chair. While she did this, Mr Dursley prepared himself for work upstairs. While he absent-mindedly picked out a tie and moved to comb his hair in the mirror, he failed to notice the large tawny owl which flew past his window.

At half past eight, Vernon kissed his wife goodbye and attempted the same with Dudley, but was instead met with smack on the nose from the boy's open palm. Chortling at his son's behaviour, the large man stepped outside and observed the sky above him. The weather forecast had predicted rain later in the day and the grey clouds above seemed to confirm it.

As Mr Dursley pulled out of his driveway and set off down the road, humming a little tune as he went, he noticed the first oddity of the day sitting on the street corner. There on the grass, was a tabby cat poring over a map. Vernon blinked and shook his head to be sure he was not imagining things. When he looked again the cat was still there, but there was no map in sight.

Grumbling to himself about not getting enough sleep last night, Vernon turned his attention away from the cat and continued on. As he reached the turning, he shot a quick glance back at the tabby. It was now reading the sign which said _Privet Drive._

'_No,_' Vernon pointed out in his head, '_It's looking at the sign. Cat's can't read signs, or maps for that matter._'

Satisfied that his world was still working as it should, he made his way into town without incident.

Unfortunately for him, the strangeness occurring on this day did not end at an oddly behaving feline. Whilst sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he noticed a small huddle of people stood in the shadow of a nearby building. They had their heads pressed together and appeared to be whispering about something.

This behaviour could be considered suspicious if seen by somebody with enough paranoia, but it was not what drew Vernon's eye. It was their clothes. The people were all wearing long cloaks, though that was where the similarity ended. The man closest to Vernon wore a cloak of midnight blue fringed with white, while the woman next to him was garbed in cloth covered by swirls of green and gold and next to her stood a short man wearing a tattered cloak of dull brown and a pointy black hat with a broad rim.

Mr Dursley openly stared at the strange group in disbelief and irritation. He could understand the need to wear something warm on a chilly day like today, but that did not excuse abandoning all sanity in your choice of clothing. His hands tightened on the wheel as he observed them, but he made himself take a deep breath. '_Probably some new craze some youngsters thought up,_' he decided grumpily, '_or maybe it's just some big stunt. Yes, they'll be collecting for something I bet._'

If there was one trait that could be found in the entire Dursley family, it was an intense dislike of anything or anyone they did not understand. In most people this trait would be considered irrational and unfounded, however this was not the case with this family. The Dursleys had more reason than most to be wary of unexplainable occurrences.

Fortunately, Vernon had already managed explain away the strangeness and therefore these events would not have any further impact on his mood today. By the time Mr Dursley arrived at his workplace, he had forgotten all about the people in cloaks and the mysterious tabby cat.

The moment Mr. Dursley pulled into the car park, he was in his element. He shouted at five different people on the way up to his office on the ninth floor. When he arrived, he settled back in his chair and immediately dialled a very important number into his phone. He made several other important calls and shouted at three more people, before the day began to get interesting again.

It was just after midday when it happened. Mr Dursley was leaning back in his chair staring out the window, when he saw a most peculiar sight. A large owl flew right past his window, in broad daylight. Vernon blinked, unsure of what had just happened, before rushing over to the window and throwing it open. He stuck his head out and looked around, but he couldn't see the bird anywhere, not even a feather.

Vernon shook his head and pulled it back inside. '_What was I thinking? An owl? It was probably just a pigeon._'

Promptly deciding that this little hallucination was his body's way of telling him he needed food in his belly, Vernon went for little walk across the street to the local bakery, where he bought himself a hot pasty and an iced bun.

When he was returning to his office though, the strangeness continued. Just outside the bakery, there was a man wearing a thick cloak of crimson. He was turning on the spot and throwing his head around as if he were looking for something, his foot tapping the pavement impatiently.

Mr Dursley had already seen enough of these weirdos and was ready to walk by without stopping, but it was just as he was approaching that a barn owl swooped down and landed on the man's outstretched arm. Vernon froze, his jaw slack. He hadn't imagined the owl after all. Obviously it belonged to this strange man, maybe he was an entertainer of some kind. That would explain the strange clothing, he was probably from the same group Vernon had spotted earlier.

This story made sense in Vernon's mind, but something about it didn't feel right. He had this strange feeling in his gut that whatever this was wasn't going to be explained away so easily. He hated that feeling. It was the feeling he got when his world was acting in a way it shouldn't be.

In the very back corners of his mind, he began to wonder if all of these little moments of strangeness had anything to do with _them. _His eyes widened when he realised where his mind was drifting and he pushed the thought away quickly.

He resolved not to think any more of the odd people and walked briskly back towards his work. Sadly, his new plan developed a fatal flaw when he bumped into another cloak-clad group just outside the building. He grit his teeth and tried his hardest not to look at them, but of course, he did and he noticed them beckoning in his direction.

He stopped in his confusion and glanced over his shoulder, to see the man with the owl moving past him towards the others. When he reached them they huddled closer and began whispering again excitedly.

Vernon was not a man who eavesdropped on others, especially when the others happened to be people he decided to forget existed, but he still felt the little feeling in his gut that he needed to know what they were talking about. That is how he found himself walking closer to the group than was necessary as he passed, straining his ears to hear what was being said.

And what was being said chilled his blood and nearly stopped his heart.

"You're sure then? Absolutely sure?" one woman asked disbelievingly.

"Of course," replied the man with the owl, "You think I'd lie about this? Like I said, two days ago at the Potter's house-"

"But, how?" interrupted another man, "Is it true what they're saying about the boy? About little Harry?"

To most people, this little snippet of conversation would seem completely harmless, if they ignored the suspicious circumstances it was spoken under, but to Vernon Dursley, the word Potter was enough to bring every one of his fears to the surface.

He did not remain outside a moment longer. He ran up the stairs to his office so fast that he even forgot to shout at anyone as he went. It was only after he made it there that he barked at his secretary that he didn't want to be disturbed and flopped back into his chair.

"Potter," he muttered angrily, "The Potters. The _bloody_ Potters."

Vernon was related to a family called Potter by marriage. His wife's sister, Lily, had married someone with that name. Vernon knew almost nothing of the family, most of the time Petunia acted as though she didn't even have a sister. He didn't even know the name of the husband.

What he did know was that they had a son, a boy around Dudley's age. He and Petunia had received a letter about their nephew when he was born. Vernon hadn't paid much attention to it before Petunia had thrown it away, but he wished now that he had. He was certain the boy's name had been mentioned, but couldn't for the life of him remember what it had been.

The only other thing Vernon knew of the Potters was their biggest secret, one that he still had a hard time believing. It was this secret that had him afraid, because it gave him an answer. If he chose to admit that the Potter's were involved, then he would have the perfect explanation for everything. The people in cloaks, the owls, even the cat.

This was one explanation that Vernon would not consider, not even in the slightest. He knew what the Potters were mixed up in and he wanted no part of it, for him or his family.

The large man evened out his breathing and tried to rationalise his thoughts. There was no proof that the Potters had anything to do with any of this. Potter was a common name, so was Harry, there were probably lots of people out there called Harry Potter.

The people in cloaks were just some silly entertainment act, strutting around with their fancy owls and collecting tins.

But, the cat-

'_The cat is just a cat!_' roared Vernon in his mind, '_There's nothing to say that this cat is connected to these people in any way!_'

Vernon worked hard to rid his mind of the Potters for the rest of the day. He was more irate than usual and probably shouted far more than was necessary. More than one potentially beneficial phone call was ended prematurely due to Vernon's foul mood.

It was five o'clock when Vernon finally set off home and his head was still buzzing with thoughts of owls and people in cloaks. By the time he got home, he had at least three different theories on who they might be, despite his promise to forget about them.

As he pulled onto his drive, he noticed something sat on the low wall surrounding the front garden. It was a cat, the same one as earlier. It fixed the large man with a piercing stare, as though he was on trial and it was the judge.

Vernon could not explain it, but something about that cat scared him and with Mr Dursley, fear could be just one step away from anger.

"Shoo!" he called, waving his hands in the cat's direction, "Go on, shoo!"

The cat remained unmoved. It barely even blinked.

Vernon was getting increasingly frustrated at the situation today and this stubborn cat was just the icing on the cake. He stepped towards it, his face colouring in anger, and began shaking his fist aggressively.

"I said get lost!" he thundered, "Go on! SHOO!"

"Vernon!"

Mr Dursley turned. His wife was stood in the doorway, her face pulled into a mix of curiosity and irritation, "What are you shouting at, dear?"

Vernon looked back at the cat and went to point at it, but stopped mid-gesture. The cat was gone. He blinked and looked between his wife and the bare wall. It suddenly came crashing down on him what that must have looked like.

'_What's gotten into me?_'

He glanced around the street anxiously and saw more than one pair of curtains snap shut as he did. Grinding his teeth, he straightened his tie and stomped through the open door of his house, leaving Petunia to close it behind him.

"Vernon?" she called after him, a hint of concern now evident in her tone, "Vernon?"

Her husband barely heard her and quickly deposited himself in his chair by the TV. His body was still tense as he tried and failed to forget the events earlier.

"Vernon, are you all right?" Petunia asked, seating herself on the couch across from him.

"I'm fine!" he snapped and she visibly flinched at his tone. He didn't blame her, he rarely raised his voice at his family, usually reserving his temper for people he didn't particularly care about.

His face softened a fraction and he finally relaxed back in his chair with a sigh, where he began to stroke his moustache in thought.

"Sorry, dear. I'm just tired. I've- it's been a long day, is all."

Petunia nodded stiffly and stood, her chin raised slightly as she always did when she spoke. "Well, I'm glad it's nothing serious and I'm glad it was today, we're having that beef for dinner and I know how a good roast always cheers you up. Oh, have I told you about the old lady that moved in yesterday down the road..."

Petunia continued her narration of the day over dinner. Mr Dursley was mostly concentrated on the plate of food in front of him, but he listened enough to know that Petunia had had a completely normal day. Dudley was his usual little self. He had learned a new word today and was using every opportunity to shout it out, which made it very difficult to move him, since the word was _shan't._

Although it did nothing to make him forget today's events, the good food was certainly helpful at clearing Vernon's head and allowing him to think more rationally. While Mrs. Dursley put Dudley to bed, he sat down in his chair to watch the evening news, as usual.

The news stories were nothing too unusual; a missing person had been found in Europe a few days ago, the strangely cold weather that had hit some places had finally begun to lift. It was all fine, up until one of the final stories. Vernon's ears pricked up and he leant forward in his chair as the reporter spoke.

"Experts are baffled by the sudden astronomical event last night, stating that they had no prior warning that such showers would occur. The meteors were seen in a number of places all across Europe, with confirmed sightings not only in Britain, but also from France, Germany, Switzerland and Denmark..."

Vernon's eyes widened and he gripped the arms of his chair as he watched images of the strange meteor showers flash up on screen and scientists talk about the impossibility of the whole situation.

'_It's nothing,_' he told himself, '_It can't be. It's not connected to the owls or the cloaks or the_ blasted _cat! But- but what if it is?_'

"Vernon?"

Mr Dursley nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his wife's voice from the door. She was watching him fearfully, as though she thought he might explode again at any moment.

"Vernon are you quite sure you're okay? You've been very quiet today, it isn't like you."

Vernon looked at the screen and stroked his moustache again. '_Should I tell her?_' It was reaching the point now where Vernon felt like he needed to tell someone about this, but how should he do it?

"Petunia," he began uncertainly, turning back to her, "Do you- I mean, have you heard from your sister recently?"

Petunia's face changed in a heartbeat, where before she looked concerned, she now looked like she'd swallowed a bug.

"Of course not," she scoffed, "_Our_ kind aren't supposed to mix with theirs, they made that very clear. So did you," she paused and gave him a puzzled look, "Vernon what is this about?"

Mr Dursley did not answer straight away. It was good few seconds of silence and moustache stroking before he did.

"When I was at work today, I saw these people. Odd people, wearing cloaks. And- and there was this owl too, swooping around in broad daylight like anybody's business. And, as well, just now on the news, all these freak shooting stars. It's all a bit _them_, wouldn't you say?"

Petunia's eyes narrowed, "So? I doubt it has anything to do with _her lot. _They're all about secrets and keeping us little people out of the way."

Vernon paused again, before he replied, "Yes, I thought so too, but I overheard some of them talking. They said something about- about the Potters."

Petunia gasped and her hand flew up to her mouth. She stepped inside and sat down on the couch, giving her husband her full attention. Vernon fixed her with look and asked seriously, "Petunia, what was the name of her son?"

Petunia began to shake her head, "What does that have to do with-"

"Just, answer the question!" he hissed.

Petunia quivered and choked out, "Harry. His- his name was Harry."

"And he'll be about Dudley's age now, won't he?"

She nodded.

Vernon paled and sank backwards, running a hand down his face.

"Did they... mention him. Is that why you're asking?" she said.

He shook his head in disbelief, "They said something about the Potters and then one of them mentioned _little Harry._"

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

Vernon pondered this for a moment, then stood up abruptly, coming to a decision. "Nothing," he said, "We'll do nothing. I don't care why that lot are here or what it has to do with your sister, we're staying out of it. I don't my family, my _life, _mixed up with theirs."

Petunia nodded in agreement, "I don't want them anywhere near us, not now that we have my little Dudders to look after."

"Then it's settled. We ignore them. We stay out of their business and they stay out of ours."

It was not long after their conversation that Vernon and Petunia went up to bed. They both lay awake for a long time, the thought of the Potters weighing down on them like a sack of bricks. Petunia succumbed to sleep first and Vernon shortly after, repeating in his mind constantly, '_It's nothing to do with us. They'll leave us alone. Nothing will happen if we ignore them._'

He had no idea how wrong he was.

o0o0o0o

Outside Number Four, the night was deathly still. No life could be seen behind the windows lining the street, nor in the gardens beneath them. Then, as though it appeared from thin air, there was the cat. It did not stalk out of the shadows like a predator or in fact appear to move at all. It seemed like one moment the wall was empty and then the next there it was, as still as if it were made of stone.

No more than a second after the cat appeared, another figure did too. In the same way, the man who approached from the end of the street looked as if he had appeared from thin air. He stopped just upon the edge of the light cast by the street lamp above.

In this dim illumination the man's appearance was revealed. He was tall, though it was difficult to tell any more of what his build might be, for he was hidden beneath long blue robes and a deep purple cloak. His hair and beard were shimmering silver and both were long enough that they could be tucked into his belt if he wished to. A pair of half-moon spectacles rested on a nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice. Behind them were two twinkling blue eyes which managed to look warm and inviting, yet at the same time seemed to see directly into your soul.

The man slowly pulled back his cloak and reached into one of the many pockets in his robes. From within he pulled a small yellow candy wrapped in thin plastic, which he opened with a tiny _snap. _He popped the sweet into his mouth, while with his other hand he reached into another of his pockets. This time he withdrew a strange device. It was made of what looked like silver and adorned with strange symbols. It almost looked like a cigarette lighter, but where the flame would normally appear, there was instead a tiny red gemstone.

The man held the device high in the air and clicked it once. The street lamp above him went dark with a sound like a candle being snuffed. The light almost seemed to move, as if it was sucked out by the device, however it all happened too fast to be certain.

The man clicked it several more times until the street was completely dark. Despite the sudden lack of light, the man did not have any trouble seeing and strode purposefully down the street. It was as he approached Number 4 that he noticed the tabby. He stopped and smiled, shaking his head.

"I should have known you would be here already, Minerva," his voice was deep and powerful, but not in the rough, intimidating way that Mr Dursley's was.

The cat's ears twitched and it pushed itself to its feet. As it did so, it's legs began to grow longer and its front paws changed shape. It's fur began to change colour and consistency until it resembled clothes. Meanwhile the head morphed itself into something less catlike and more human.

After a second or two, the cat which sat before him was no longer a cat, instead there stood a severe looking woman in dark robes and an emerald cloak. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she wore square glasses the same shape as the markings around the cat's eyes.

"Professor Dumbledore," she greeted the man in a stern voice.

The man called Dumbledore smiled at her and continued his walk until he was sat upon the wall next to where she stood. He frowned and looked up at her, "I do hope you haven't been sat here all day, this wall is dreadfully uncomfortable."

Minerva grimaced and if possible managed to adopt an even stiffer posture. Dumbldore shook his head and chuckled, "I thought so. I merely asked you to meet me here tonight, it would have been perfectly acceptable for you to spend the day somewhere else."

"Where else would I be? We have a job to do."

"Yes I know, but word is starting to spread about what happened and the first few feasts and parties have already started, I think I passed at least three today."

Minerva's lips tightened, "You think I didn't notice the parties? The whole continent noticed them! I mean, shooting stars? I understand people are excited and with good reason, but that is no excuse for these ridiculous stunts they insist on pulling."

"You can't blame them, we've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years," said Dumbledore.

"Still, I felt I needed to be here. I wanted to see the family for myself," she said.

"Did you?" chuckled Dumbledore, before growing more serious, "Tell me, what do you think of them?"

Minerva sighed, "From what I saw, the mother treats her child well, perhaps a little too well in fact. I'm just not sure how she will react to, well _us. _From what I've heard of her, she doesn't seem very fond of our kind, but it's the father I'm worried about."

"Tell me," said Dumbledore.

"The man has a temper like a powder keg," she explained, "I've not seen him raise his voice or his fist at either of them, but he reacted to me simply for being here. I believe he is scared of us, because he doesn't understand us. It worries me."

"You do not think he will treat Harry as he treats the rest of his family," said Dumbledore.

"I don't think either of them will," she said, "But it is him I worry about the most."

Dumbledore sat for several moments staring into the distance, running a hand down his beard. "We have no choice," he said.

"Are you sure?" Minerva asked, "We could find someone surely, anyone would be willing to take him in. Someone we know perhaps, who could give him a proper childhood."

"Minerva, it is not merely the family we must protect him from," Dumbledore said, "There will books written about him, his name will be marked in history forever. To expose him to that at such a young age- it would change him and I do not believe it would be for the better. Then there are the Death Eaters. Voldemort may be gone, but the war is far from over. We must keep him safe, away from it all."

Minerva flinched at the word _Voldemort _and gave Dumbledore a strange look, "Albus, about that. I- I know there's a lot of rumour flying about now and a lot of it most likely isn't true, but what happened last night, at the Longbottom's. Is it- are they really-"

Dumbledore bowed his head and nodded.

"No," Minerva let out a strangled gasp, "No, they can't- I didn't- I didn't want to believe-"

Dumbledore patted her on the back in comfort as she wiped her eyes.

"I just- I can't believe- even after he's gone it doesn't stop," she continued, "Lily, James, Peter and now Frank and Alice as well."

She took a gulp of air and composed herself more, "I'm sorry, I should- I knew this was likely to happen. It's like you always said, the war doesn't end over one death."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," said Dumbledore, "We all held onto the hope that it would just end once he was gone. There is nothing shameful about that. We just need to hope that it won't last much longer now that he is."

Minerva nodded and wiped the last tear from her eye. The two remained in silence for several minutes, before Dumbledore pulled out a golden pocket watch. The watch had twelve hands and little illustrations of planets instead of numbers. Dumbledore glanced at it before saying, "Hagrid's late."

"Are you sure it was wise to trust Hagrid with something like this?" she asked.

"Minerva, I would trust Hagrid with my life."

"As would I. There's no questioning his loyalty, but I feel this requires a certain tact which Hagrid lacks."

Dumbledore laughed, "You mean you think he will get drunk and blurt out to everyone in the Leaky Cauldron where to find Harry Potter."

Minerva gave him a look, "You can't deny it's a possibility."

"No," agreed Dumbledore, "I cannot, but I feel his loyalty is required now, especially after what happened with Sirius."

"That was not your fault," said Minerva.

"Was it not?" he asked, "I trusted him, I believed in him and his friendship with the Potters. You cannot deny that I am partly to blame for this."

"You couldn't have known, none of us could."

"Exactly. That is why only you and Hagrid will know where Harry is staying. Until we can be completely sure we have to keep everyone else in the dark."

Minerva was about to respond, but stopped and turned her head slightly, "Do you hear that?"

Dumbledore did indeed hear it and took it as his sign to stand. The noise was a low rumbling which was growing steadily louder. The two of them looked up and saw a dark shape descending in the moonlight. As it came closer they took a step back, just to be safe, right before an enormous motorbike dropped to the ground in front of them and skidded to the end of the street.

It was immediately obvious why the bike was so large, for the man sitting astride it was twice as tall as a regular man and nearly five times as wide. The rider dismounted and pulled his helmet off with one hand the size of a dustbin lid. He had long tangles of wild black hair and a bushy beard which hid most of his face. From inside this mass of hair, two black eyes glittered like beetles. The giant strode towards the pair with his helmet in one hand and a bundle of blankets in the other.

"Was that really the best means of transportation you could find?" Minerva asked quietly, eyeing the motorbike.

Dumbledore smiled, "Portkeys and Floo can be traced and perhaps one day they will create a broomstick large enough for Hagrid, but I have not yet found one."

The man, Hagrid, stepped up in front of them and nodded in greeting, "Good evenin' Professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall."

"Hagrid, at last," greeted Dumbledore, "There were no problems I take it."

"No, sir. It's been smooth flyin' an' there's been some good cloud cover up there, so I don' reckon any muggles spotted us."

"Good, good," said Dumbledore, moving to peer at the bundle of blankets with McGonagall by his side.

Inside was a baby, a boy. He had a tuft of jet black hair and was sleeping soundly. On his forehead was a strange cut shaped like a lightning bolt.

"Is that where-" asked McGonagall.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore simply.

"How?" she said, "How did this even happen? How did he survive where no one else did?"

"I do not know," said Dumbledore, keeping his eyes on the boy, "I have theories of course, but we may never know for sure."

"I reckon we should just be glad he's alive and that bastard You-Know-Who is dead," growled Hagrid.

Neither professor responded to that. After a moment, Dumbledore looked up and smiled, "Shall we get on with it then."

Together, the three of them moved towards the front door of Number 4. Once they reached the doorstep Hagrid stopped and said, "Could I- could I have a momen' to say goodbye?"

Dumbledore nodded and Hagrid smiled at him. He looked down at the boy in his arms, "Time to go now 'arry. I'll- I'll see yeh again, in a few years I guess, but fer now- well-" Tears had begun to fall and Hagrid bent his head and placed a very scratchy kiss on his forehead. The big man slowly lowered the boy to the ground and placed him on the step, before straightening and wiping his eyes.

Dumbledore crouched by the bundle and carefully tucked a sealed letter into the blankets. He reached into his robes and removed a long, thin piece of polished wood. He slowly waved the wand over the child's head, murmuring strange words as he did so. As he finished, a warm breeze fluttered around the group and Harry squirmed slightly, his little palm closing over the letter beside him.

The professor stood and turned to his companions. "It is done," he said, with an air of finality, "Now, we have urgent business to attend to."

"All right, sir," said Hagrid with a great sniff, "Jus' tell me what needs doin'."

"If you need to rest Hagrid, I would do so now," advised Dumbledore, "I need you to cross the channel and determine what is happening in the continent. The giants and werewolves are still a problem that we must contend with, even now that their master is gone."

"I'm fine to fly, sir. I'll get going right now," Hagrid turned and strode over to where his bike remained, pulling his helmet on as he did. In one great movement, he mounted the bike and kicked the engine to life. The bike travelled a few metres down the road before it soared off into the sky, growing smaller and smaller till it disappeared into the clouds.

Dumbledore and McGonagall watched as the bike vanished and remained in that position for some time after it did.

"Events are moving quicker than I anticipated," said Dumbledore finally, "I assumed that we would have more time. A great many things I have assumed in the past few months have proven false."

"You're a great man Dumbledore," said McGonagall, "But you're still human. I do believe that's more than could be said for You-Know-Who."

Dumbeldore chuckled, "You know me too well to think I will ever believe that. Our enemies, no matter how dark, are still men and women, even Voldemort."

McGonagall flinched and glanced at Dumbledore, "I don't think tonight is the night to argue this," she said, "What do you need me to do, Albus?"

Dumbledore gave her a serious look, "You were right Minerva," he said, "These celebrations are dangerous. Fairly soon the Ministry will be sending people to clear them up before the Muggles start to notice. It would be the perfect opportunity for any Death Eaters hiding inside the Ministry to launch an attack. I want you to gather some people together, find the most likely targets and ensure that they remain safe."

McGonagall nodded to show that she understood and began a brisk walk away from the house. When she reached the gate, Dumbledore called out to her. "Minerva," he said, she turned to him, "Take care who you trust. We're not out of the woods yet."

She nodded again, "Take care, Albus. I will see you soon." As she stepped through the gate, she morphed back into a cat and crept away into the shadows with one fluid movement.

Dumbledore was now alone in front of the house. He took several steps forward until he stood by the gate, then turned to face the building and raised his arms. In his right hand he held the wand and his left was empty, with an open palm facing outwards.

In a low, echoing voice, he began to chant. The words were strange and twisted, like nothing the human tongue should be able to pronounce. It was clear that these words were not of the same language as those he had murmured on the step. These words were far older and rang with a great power that anyone in hearing distance could feel. As he spoke, Dumbledore waved his wand back and forth in front of him, leaving a dim trail of golden light from the end of it. Mostly his movements were random, but every so often, he would deftly trace an archaic symbol in front of him, which would flash red for a short second before vanishing.

This strange ritual continued for at least ten minutes, until Dumbledore brought the wand to rest, point up, about an inch from his nose. He grasped the wooden handle in both hands, continuing his chant while he did so. Surrounding him was the same golden glow he had used to draw the symbols, growing steadily more intense as the old man began to chant faster. On the doorstep, the boy in the blankets was writhing in his sleep, his stubby fingers gripping the parchment like a vice.

Suddenly, Dumbledore threw both arms out to the side and ended the chant with one final, bellowed word. The aura which surrounded him flashed blood red and a great wind swirled down the street with a roar like thunder, whipping the old man's hair and beard from side to side.

Just as quick as they had come, the wind and the light vanished. Dumbledore slumped forwards and barely managed to break his fall with his hands. He remained on his knees for several minutes, panting and gasping like he had just run a marathon. Eventually, he stood and straightened his robes, surveying the house before him with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

He turned and left through the gate, coming to a stop in the centre of the street. He stowed the wand in his robes and removed the same device he had used to extinguish the street lamps. He clicked it once and the lights immediately relit themselves.

Dumbledore cast one last look around Privet Drive, before his gaze landed on the sleeping form in front of Number 4. His lips curved upwards and his eyes twinkled in a smile.

"Good luck, Harry Potter."

And with that, he turned on his heel and began his walk down the street, popping another yellow sweet into his mouth as he did so.


	2. The Boy in The Cupboard

**The Boy in The Cupboard**

_10 years later_

Harry Potter was up far too early. He wasn't sure how he knew, since the space around him was too dark to see an inch in front of his face and he didn't own a clock anyway. However, he was certain that whatever time it was, it was too early for him to get up.

He lay there in the dark for a few minutes with his eyes closed, trying to drift back off into sleep. There was nobody banging on his door or screaming at him to get up and help cook breakfast, meaning that the Dursleys were still in bed and he could try to get a couple more minutes at least. He rolled onto his side and thumped his pillow into a more comfortable shape, before deciding that he didn't like that and turning so he was on his back again.

Realising that his efforts were in vain, the ten-year-old boy groped in the darkness behind him for his glasses. Once his fumbling fingers found the frames, he pushed them on and reached for the switch by his head. Light bloomed above him and he snapped his eyes shut, throwing one arm over his face. Blinking rapidly, he waited for his eyes to adjust, before sitting up and stretching as far as the walls would allow.

Harry yawned and observed the space around him. It couldn't really be called a bedroom, more of a cupboard with some of the things normally found in a bedroom stuffed inside. Most of the cramped space was occupied by Harry's bed, which was really just a mattress covered with some worn bedding. To his left, in the space between the bed and the wall, were his clothes, all neatly piled and sorted in a way that made the cupboard seem bigger than it actually was. Lining the walls were several shelves which had once been used to hold his Uncle's tools, but were now home to Harry's collection.

Harry had very few possessions of his own, even his clothes had once been owned by his Uncle or his cousin, Dudley. What he did have was a collection of objects he had found in and around the house or while at school. He had learned early on not to tell the Dursleys about this hobby of his, as they didn't like him doing anything that they considered less than normal.

His favourite pieces were his army. When he was younger, Harry had had a nightmare about something living in his cupboard with him, in the dark. When he finally plucked up the courage to tell his Aunt and Uncle about it, they told him to stop being ridiculous and to try and dream of normal things. He had tried, but that night, he'd had the same dream again.

In the morning he had been terrified of telling his Aunt and Uncle it hadn't worked and so kept his mouth shut. Dudley had poked fun at him all day about being afraid of the dark, but they never even acknowledged that the nightmare had happened. As luck would have it, that same day Aunt Petunia had bought Dudley a brand new chess set. It had pieces shaped to look like wizards and dragons and Dudley had been ecstatic when he saw it. That excitement lasted about five minutes, until he was shown the complex rulebook that came with the game. He had immediately dived into one of his trademark tantrums and his parents had shoved the set into Harry's arms, telling him to take it out back and throw it away.

On the way to the bin, one of the pieces had fallen out of Harry's arms. As he bent to pick it up, he had stopped for a moment to admire it. It was in the form of an old man in green robes holding a long staff in one hand and a silver sword in the other. His face had been worked into a look of pure concentration and his eyes were solid white. Harry had thought that he brave and wise, braver and wiser than Harry could ever be. It was in this moment that Harry had an epiphany, perhaps he wasn't strong enough to keep the monsters away, but if he had an army, then he wouldn't need to be.

He had gathered as many of the pieces as he could fit in his pockets and smuggled them back to his cupboard, where he arranged them on the shelves around his bed. He didn't have the nightmare that night or any night after and he had continued building up his troops ever since. Even now, when he was old enough to know that there was no such thing as monsters, he still swiped the occasional toy soldier or model dragon from his cousin. It gave him comfort to know someone was watching over him while he slept.

Another of his favourites was his books. Technically, they were Dudley's books, but Dudley had never been much of a reader. Most of them had pages missing from where Dudley had ripped them out in his anger at not understanding the plot. Just like the soldiers for his army, Harry usually smuggled these away whenever he was told to throw them out.

He knew the Dursleys would be furious if they found him reading these books. It wasn't that they didn't want him to read, in fact he had always been encouraged to, but it was always non-fiction. For some reason, the Dursleys didn't want Harry watching or reading anything fictional, they didn't even like him having dreams about things which shouldn't happen. Harry had always wondered about that; they had absolutely no problem with Dudley watching cartoons or reading fantasy books, but for Harry it was something that would never even be considered.

That was why these story books were so precious to him, why he always got a thrill of excitement when he opened them, knowing he was breaking a fundamental rule of living with the Dursleys.

Harry scratched the back of his head and reached over to his right, unlocking the door and pushing it open. He climbed out and stretched as far as he could, savouring the open space. The door to his cupboard was in the main hallway of the house, under the stairs. There were actually four bedrooms in the Dursley house. One was for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one was reserved for guests and the last two were Dudley's, one for sleeping and one to store everything that didn't fit in his first bedroom. Harry had once asked his Aunt and Uncle why he had to sleep in a cupboard when there were two spare bedrooms he could use. They had given him a look which made him feel like an idiot and asked him why he thought Dudley should sacrifice his own personal space just so that Harry was more comfortable.

Harry had known for a long time that Dudley's needs were always far more important than his own. Dudley was their son, Harry was just the boy who lived in their cupboard. There had never been any misconceptions that the Dursleys were his parents, they had made it very clear early in his life that his parents were dead.

Harry knew very little about his parents. His Aunt and Uncle had never spoken of them to him after that first time, not even in passing. It would be easy to think that they hadn't known them at all. What they had told him was how they died. According to the Dursleys, his father had always been a reckless drunk and one day, when he'd had a bit too much to drink, he crashed his car, with Harry and his mother in it.

From what little information the Dursleys had given him, his parents sounded like the worst type of people, but Harry had never fully believed their story. He could never put his finger on it, but something in his gut told him there was more to it than that.

Shaking his head clear, he reached back into his cupboard and grabbed his school uniform. He then began to climb the stairs, taking great care not to wake any of his relatives, Dudley in particular. Vernon and Petunia would shout at him and give a smaller portion at mealtimes if he woke them, but Dudley would wait until they were at school, then drag him behind the bins and kick his stomach in.

He crept into the bathroom and closed the door softly behind him, before turning to face the mirror. The boy who looked back at him was small and thin, with unruly black hair and bright green eyes behind a pair of broken round-framed glasses. Harry had always been small for his age and his hair had never lain flat in his life. His glasses were split down the middle from the last time Dudley punched him in the face, the only thing holding them together was a few wrappings of Sellotape.

Harry had never really liked his appearance, it always got him strange looks at school or in the street, especially when he wore clothes made for a boy four-times his size. There was one feature which Harry did like about himself though. Stepping towards the mirror, he pushed back his fringe with one hand to reveal a thin scar on his forehead, shaped like a bolt of lightning. This scar was the oddest part of Harry's appearance and that was why he loved it. Since he was never allowed to associate himself with anything out of the ordinary, having such an unexplainable mark on his skin felt like a slap in his Aunt and Uncle's face.

He was quick in the bathroom; having a wash, brushing his teeth and pulling on his clothes, then tiptoeing back downstairs and heading into the living room. He took his regular spot on the floor, leaving the couch and armchair free for his relatives, and turned on the TV. He flicked through the channels until he found the news and settled back to watch. He may not be allowed to watch cartoons, but Vernon and Petunia were perfectly fine with him watching the news or a documentary.

At first, he had found both of them dreadfully boring, but after a while, he began to pay more attention and discovered that real stories could be just as interesting as made up ones. Not that it stopped him from reading Dudley's books in secret.

It was a good thirty minutes before Harry heard the tell-tale sound of Uncle Vernon's footsteps as he came downstairs. He didn't look up as his Uncle walked in the room, just as Vernon didn't seem to notice his nephew sat in the middle of the room. He simply strode over to his chair and fell into it with a sigh, gluing his eyes to the screen in front of him.

Neither of them spoke for a while, until Uncle Vernon asked, "Has the weather been on yet?"

Harry looked over at him. He was still staring at the TV. "They said it should be fine for most of the day," replied Harry, "But there might be some cloud this evening."

Vernon grunted in response, then said, "Anything interesting I should know about?"

Harry and Vernon had a system worked out. Whoever woke up first would turn on the news and watch the first few stories until the other came in. Then, the second person would ask first what the weather forecast said, then if anything interesting had happened. This was the one time of the day that Harry was given more attention than Dudley, it was also the only time Vernon allowed him to ask questions freely.

"Not much," said Harry, "Looks like the strikes are still going on, though"

Vernon finally looked at him through narrow eyes, "I said anything _interesting_, boy," he snapped, "What do I care if some train-driver's getting whiny. I assume that it was the underground again."

Harry nodded and Vernon snorted, "The lazy gits," he grumbled, "Always wanting more money for sitting around all day."

'_Sounds like someone else I know,_' Harry almost said, but he held his tongue. No matter how civil these morning conversations were, Vernon still did not appreciate cheek.

It wasn't long before Petunia could be heard making her way into the kitchen, which was followed by Vernon saying, "Boy, put the kettle on while your Aunt makes the breakfast."

Harry took this as a sign that their morning ritual was over and left in silence. As he entered the kitchen and opened the cupboard, his Aunt turned and snapped at him, "Don't forget my sugar," before turning back to the bacon in front of her.

'_Oh, thanks,_' Harry thought as he pulled out a couple of mugs, '_I never would've remembered that. It's not like I do this every morning.'_

He quickly went through the process of making his relatives their tea and it was as he finished pouring the second cup that he heard the oncoming stampede of footsteps that heralded the arrival of his cousin. Harry looked over as Dudley came waddling through the door. In the past ten years Dudley Dursley had grown, in every sense of the word. Dudley had very little of his mother in him, aside from his tiny blue eyes and the shape of his nose. The rest came from Vernon, the large pink face, the thick blond hair and the even thicker head, the lack of any visible neck. He was wearing a set of extra-large blue pyjamas which were clearly too small for him.

Harry had often heard Aunt Petunia say Dudley looked like a baby angel. Harry thought that was very unlikely to be true, unless angels resembled overblown beach balls in wigs.

"There you are my Diddykins," said Petunia in a sickly sweet voice, "Hurry up and get dressed and ready for school, then you can have your breakfast."

Dudley's face scrunched up into a frown. "School?" he said, "But, I thought it was my birthday, why do I have to go today?"

"No sweetie," said Petunia, "That's tomorrow, remember. We're taking you out to the zoo."

That, if anything, made Dudley even more distressed. "But, that's not fair," he whined, "Why can't we just go today and still do my birthday tomorrow? I don't want to go to school today, I shouldn't have to."

"Yeah," muttered Harry under his breath, "Because your life is the one that isn't fair."

Unfortunately, Dudley heard him. He turned his fat head and scowled at Harry. "What was that Potter?"

Harry looked at his cousin, gave him the most fake smile he could and said, "I was just agreeing with you_ Diddykins_, you really shouldn't have to go to school on your _special_ day."

Dudley's face split into a broad grin, apparently he didn't hear the sarcasm. However, Aunt Petunia did and Harry watched her face twist into a scowl over Dudley's shoulder.

"Boy!" she spat, walking over to him and thrusting a tray of breakfast into his hands, "Be quiet and take this to your Uncle, then go and make the beds."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he drawled.

As he left, Harry heard Dudley's protests start up again ten-fold. He smirked to himself. It really was too easy to set Dudley off and it could be hilarious if done properly. Despite his bit of fun, Harry was groaning inwardly while he went through his Aunt's tasks. He had completely forgotten about Dudley's birthday tomorrow, though he wasn't sure how, since Dudley had been mentioning it non-stop for two weeks. It meant that Dudley was probably going to be even more insufferable than usual at school today, his tiny brain might even have worked out Harry's insult by then as well, which would be very bad news.

Once Harry had finished his morning chores and eaten the smallest of the four plates of bacon and eggs, he climbed into Uncle Vernon's car outside, ready to go. From the back seat, he watched and chuckled as Dudley fought off his mother's kisses. Uncle Vernon shot a scowl back at him and he quieted immediately, giving the big man an innocent smile. Vernon grunted and opened the door for Dudley to pile himself in.

On the way to school, very little happened, aside from Dudley complaining about his birthday a lot and Vernon complaining about other drivers even more. Harry spent the journey listening to the radio, which was going on about a court case he had seen on the news a few days ago.

It wasn't long before the car pulled up outside the gates and Harry and Dudley jumped out. Uncle Vernon shouted at Dudley to be good and fixed Harry with a hard stare which said the same, before driving off. Once the car was out of sight around the corner, Harry instantly felt something hit him on his back and fell to his knees. He looked up and saw Dudley stood over him, a big stupid grin on his big stupid face. It was obvious that he had pushed him.

"See you at break Potter," he cackled, before running off towards class or as close to running as Dudley could get anyway.

Harry pushed himself to his feet and straightened his glasses, then followed after his idiot of a cousin. Harry knew what would be happening at break. It was a little game that Dudley and his friends had made up called _Harry-Hunting. _Harry was not popular at school. Firstly, because of how he looked; the broken glasses and scruffy clothes didn't win him any points. Then, there was the purely non-fiction diet the Dursleys had given him; nobody wanted to hang around with the kid who didn't know who Peter Pan was, but could tell you all about what happened on the news last night.

The last reason was Dudley. Since their first day, Dudley had singled Harry out as a target and nobody wanted to get on Dudley's bad side. He and his gang were well known as the meanest kids on the playground. There were lots of people who had tried to latch onto Dudley over the years, but the main four remained the same. First, there was Dudley, who was the biggest and baddest, which made him the leader, despite the fact that he was probably the stupidest as well. Then, there was Gordon, who was like Dudley, but with the edges filed down slightly and a few extra brain cells stuck in his head to compensate for the weight loss. Next, was Piers, the scrawny one who looked like a rat. Since he was the fastest, he was normally the one to chase people down and hold them still while the other two caught up. Lastly, there was Dennis, the lookout. When you saw Dennis hanging around by some shady corner, chances were that some poor kid was getting his lunch stolen a few feet away.

The first part of the day was nothing special, just the regular Literacy work they did every day. Harry was always careful not to overachieve in the creative writing tasks; he didn't want Dudley telling Uncle Vernon that he actually had an imagination.

Then came break time. The time for Dudley's group to pick a target. Harry was their usual choice, of course, but sometimes they went for easier pickings instead. After years of running from Dudley both inside and outside of school, not only was Harry incredibly fast, he was also a superb climber. It was rare for them to catch Harry these days, which meant that more and more people were becoming targets for Dudley. Just one more reason people hated Harry.

Currently, Harry was at the far edge of the yard, near the sports field where they did PE. Across from him were Dudley's group.

Even if Dudley hadn't tipped him off this morning, Harry would still have known the group was coming for him today. It had been too long since the last _Harry-Hunt_ and, as if that wasn't enough, the boys were staring straight at him from across the yard, not even trying to hide it.

Harry observed them discretely, without letting them notice he was watching. '_Looks like it's the whole foursome,_' he observed,_ 'without any of their fans for once, that's- wait a minute, that's not Piers._' He turned his head for a better look. He was right, that was most definitely not the rat-boy, it was one of their newest fans, Michael or Martin something or other.

'_But, if Piers isn't there then-_'

Harry stepped to the side and spun around. Piers was not far away, hands outstretched as he crept up on Harry from behind. There was a moment where the two looked each other dead in the eye, then Harry bolted. The hunt was on.

Harry knew exactly what the gang would do, he probably had more brain power than all of them put together. They would try to herd him around the back of the school, into the little alcove on the far side where the bins were. Piers and the new guy would chase him from behind, the long way around, while Dudley and Gordon would waddle their way around the other side and wait to block him off, meanwhile Dennis would pretend to have hurt his ankle and draw the teacher away. It probably would have been a good plan, if Harry hadn't seen it used a hundred times already.

This time, instead of running a different way and screwing everything up right off the bat, he decided to do it with style. After all, it wasn't every day you got to mess up your cousin's big birthday hunt.

He did everything they wanted; he led Piers and the groupie around the school and dove straight for the alcove when he encountered Dudley's roadblock. He stopped when faced with the bare wall and turned to look at the group, leaning back against the building behind him.

The space was small, with only a narrow opening between the bins and the wall and no other way out except the locked door to the storeroom. The opening was currently blocked by four idiots.

"Hey Dudders," Harry greeted warmly, as though they were old friends, "Fancy seeing you here."

"You think you're so smart Potter," said Dudley, "But look who's the smart one now."

"Yeah, you caught me, so remind me why aren't you breaking my face right now?" asked Harry.

Dudley smirked and Gordon piped up, "This isn't about you four-eyes."

"Yeah," said Dudley, "This is an in-ee-shee-shon."

Harry looked at him blankly, "A what-ee-shon?"

Dudley frowned and tried to form the word with his mouth, "An ini-shee-shion... ini-shia-shion-"

"Initiation?" offered Harry.

"Yeah," said Dudley, gesturing frantically, "That, the ini-thingy."

"What, for your boyfriend over there?" said Harry, nodding at the new kid behind him, "What's his name again, Margaret?"

"It's Malcolm," said Margaret, through gritted teeth.

"We like him," said Dudley, "We think he's a cool guy, but we think needs to have a Harry-Hunt as well."

"Well, I am honoured," said Harry, "Really, it is such an honour to be your favourite punching bag, but I'm not going to just stand here and let you knock my teeth out."

"What are you gonna do to stop us Potter," sneered Piers.

Harry smirked and pushed off the wall, running straight at them. He could see the surprise on their faces as four tiny brains tried to work out what he was going to accomplish with this move. While they stood around in confusion, Harry planted his foot on the side of the bins and pulled himself up and over in a vault.

He landed upright behind the boys and wasted no time in sprinting back to the yard. He heard the bell ring for the end of break just as he turned the corner and saw the rest of his class filing back inside. He quietly joined the line and followed them in, throwing a smug smile at the dumbstruck look on Dennis' face on his way past.

The next lesson was Numeracy, which Harry wasn't half bad in. It didn't really matter though, as the Dursleys never even looked at his marks.

It was at lunchtime that Harry started to think that perhaps humiliating Dudley hadn't been the best idea. Dudley wouldn't go to his parents about this. Normally, _cry-to-mummy_ was the first card he pulled on Harry, but he never used it in a _Harry-Hunt_. This was a personal feud between the two boys and it was his birthday as well. Harry knew that he wouldn't be getting a tongue-lashing or a stay in the cupboard for this; he'd be getting a trademark, Dudley Dursley beating.

Harry was pretty sure that his Aunt and Uncle knew about the beatings, but if they did, then they didn't care. They hardly ever seemed to care about anything concerning Harry, whether it was good or bad.

Once school was over, he decided that his only option was to stay out of sight until Uncle Vernon showed up to get them, then make a dash for the car before Dudley could find him. That was how Harry found himself sat in a tree not far from where his Uncle usually came for them. He knew Dudley would be too stupid to look in a tree for him, so all he had to do was wait.

"Ow- ah, stop it! That's- ow!"

Harry turned at the noise. It was a girl's voice and it was coming from behind him somewhere. He carefully picked his way through the branches until he was peering out through the leaves.

There, not far away, was Dudley's gang. They were surrounding a small girl, probably a couple of years younger than Harry. Dudley had hold of her by one blond pigtail, while the newbie, Malcolm, held the other.

"Please, get off," begged the girl. Harry didn't need to see her face to know there were tears in her eyes.

"But they're pretty, remember," said Dudley in a mocking baby voice, "That's what you said wasn't it, that they make you feel pretty? You're right, they are very nice. I think I want them for myself."

He gave the hair in his hand another sharp tug and the girl cried out in pain. Harry winced and pulled back, resting his head against a nearby limb, trying to get his anger under control. His entire body wanted to go down there right now and make Dudley back off, but his mind was rebelling, telling him to stay, no it was _screaming_ at him to stay.

'_But, she needs help,_' he protested.

'_No, you stay here. It's not worth it,_'

'_But, I've been there before, I know what it's like-_'

'_Exactly! Do you really want to end up there again? You had a plan, stick to your-_'

"No! No, stop- ow!"

The new shrieks of fright caught Harry's attention and shook him free of his internal debate. He twisted again and looked out at the scene below. Most of the boys had moved back now, so it was just Dudley and Malcolm holding the girl. Her eyes were fixed on something in Dudley's hand. Harry squinted at it. It was something metal and glittered in the afternoon sun.

"I told you," said Dudley, his buddies cheering him on in the background, "I think they're pretty. It's like when you see a pretty little flower and you just want to pick it for yourself. That's all this is."

It suddenly clicked in Harry's head. Dudley was holding a pair of scissors. He was threatening to cut off this poor girl's pigtails for his own amusement. Now that everyone had backed off, Harry could finally see her face. He could see the fear and powerlessness in her eyes.

Harry looked at his cousin's smug, stupid face and felt a hot, dark anger swell inside him. He had only felt like this a few times before and it had never ended well, but he didn't care. The only thing he cared about was that his cousin was selfish, his cousin was stupid, he was arrogant, he was a bully, he was-

_Screaming_.

Harry blinked in surprise and felt the rage leave him as fast as it had come. The scissors in Dudley's hand, which had shone silver a moment ago, were now glowing bright orange while his cousin screamed in pain. Dudley threw the offending metal to the floor and everyone watched in amazement as the grass around it burst into flames. The metal began to sag and lose its shape, slowly turning into a molten orange puddle. It continued to get hotter and hotter, slowly burning itself away until nothing was left but a bare patch of charred earth.

The boys' fingers went limp in shock and the little girl managed to twist her way free, running out of sight as fast as she could. The five boys carried on staring dumbly at the spot where the scissors had been, but Harry was already moving back to the other side of his tree. His breathing was ragged and his eyes were wide while he tried to process what had just happened.

He was so shaken that he nearly missed Uncle Vernon's car pull up nearby. Trying desperately to compose himself and steady his breathing, Harry slipped out of the tree quietly and made his way to the car as fast as he dared, all the while hoping- no, _praying _that Dudley didn't see him. He opened the door and slid smoothly into the back seat letting out a short sigh, before closing his eyes and trying to calm himself down. He had almost gotten a handle on himself by the time Dudley fell into the front seat. His face was ashen and he looked exactly how Harry felt at that moment.

"Dudley?" said Uncle Vernon, sounding concerned, "Are you all right, son?"

"'M fine," he mumbled, "Just, want to go home now."

Harry tried hard to keep his face blank as his Uncle gave him a piercing stare through the mirror, '_It wasn't my fault, it couldn't have been._'

He wasn't sure why he kept lying to himself like that.

The truth was, strange things tended to happen a lot around Harry. He had no idea why, but whenever he felt a strong surge of emotion, things just _happened. _He didn't know how else to explain it, mostly because he didn't understand it himself. He just knew that whatever it was had something to do with him.

One time, Aunt Petunia had decided to cut off all of his hair so that she didn't have to battle with it every morning. He had been almost completely bald afterwards, except for the fringe, which she left to cover his scar. He had been so scared and embarrassed about going to school the next morning that he had gone to sleep nearly crying that night. When he woke up the next day, his hair was back and more untameable than ever.

Another time, he had been in his Literacy class and one of his teachers trying to find out why his marks had suddenly become so poor. The teacher was soft, but firm about it and kept asking if someone was bullying or teasing him about it. Harry had slowly gotten more and more frustrated at not being able to tell him about the Dursleys and the teacher had begun to push harder and harder every time Harry shut him out. The tension between them just kept rising, until suddenly the whole atmosphere changed and the entire class burst into laughter. Somehow, in the midst of his interrogation of Harry, the man's dull brown hair had become a bright electric blue. He had run from the room in horror and hadn't bothered Harry ever again.

The worst time had to be when Harry was running from Dudley and his gang two years ago. They had chased him around back just like today and he had attempted to dive over the bins and into the alcove. He didn't quite remember how he'd ended up on the roof of the school, just that one moment he was running scared, the next he was sat looking down at the four bullies from above.

It was these moments that earned Harry his worst punishments from the Dursleys. Normally, they ignored him except to give him chores and gave him neither scolding nor praise for his actions, but this was the big exception. No matter how many times he insisted that he had no clue as to what was going on, they always treated him like it was his fault. Usually, it meant a long stay in the cupboard with no meals, only being let out to go to the toilet.

Harry knew that he couldn't talk his way out of these punishments. The only way of avoiding them was to not let his Aunt and Uncle find out that anything unnatural had happened, hence why Harry was pleading to the world not to let Dudley have noticed him.

Once they got back home, Harry spent dinner picking at his food nervously. He went about all of his chores without complaint and didn't ask any questions, trying as hard as he could to become invisible. While he washed the dishes however, he overheard a conversation between his Aunt and Uncle.

"Vernon, it's bad news I'm afraid," said Petunia, "Mrs Figg's broken her leg. She won't be able to take him tomorrow."

Harry stopped midway through wiping a plate and pricked his ears up. It didn't take a genius to work out that they were talking about him.

"Bloody hell, what are we going to do with him now then?" grumbled Vernon.

"What about Marge?" said Petunia.

"No, no, she hates the boy. I doubt that he'd make it back in one piece," replied Vernon.

'_Like you care,_' thought Harry acidly.

"Well we can't leave him here, who knows what state he'll leave the place in," said Petunia, "We could take him with us and leave him in the car."

"I'm not leaving him alone in my car," snapped Vernon, "Surely there's somewhere we can send him."

The rest of the discussion was too quiet for Harry to make out, but he'd heard enough. He could feel the first flutters of excitement rising in his heart. Did he even dare to hope, that maybe this year-

"Boy!"

Harry started at his Uncle's voice and spun around quickly. Vernon beckoned him over and led him into the hall, away from Petunia. Once outside the cupboard, his Uncle turned to him and jabbed one fat finger in his face.

"I want you to listen very closely, boy," he spat.

Harry nodded, not quite trusting his voice at the moment.

"Your Aunt and I have decided to take you with us tomorrow," Vernon said, though it sounded like he had trouble forcing the words out.

Harry's heart leapt and he had to fight the urge to break out into a grin. '_I'm going to the zoo!_' he thought ecstatically.

"But," snapped Vernon, "While we're there you need to follow my rules, understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry. He didn't care what the rules were, he'd take the zoo over Mrs Figg's any day.

Vernon nodded, "First, if Dudley or his friend want to do something, you stay well out of their way, it'll be like you're not even there."

'_Just like every day then,_' Harry nodded

"Second, you're not to ask any questions or speak to anyone at the zoo. This is Dudley's day, you're just there so that we can keep an eye on you."

'_Yeah, I know how to act like I don't exist, it's not exactly the first time,_' Harry nodded.

"And finally, I want nothing- and I mean _nothing,_ abnormal to happen. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," he replied.

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes, "Dudley came home with a burn on his hand today. It was nothing serious, but he wouldn't tell us where it came from. He was acting very strange all this afternoon too."

Harry tried not to blink as Vernon continued to point at him violently, "If I get even the slightest whiff of any funny business while we're out tomorrow, then I swear you'll wish you'd never been dropped on our doorstep."

Harry didn't respond and let Vernon turn and walk back into the kitchen. He sighed and followed him. He knew there was no point in trying to convince any of them that he wasn't the cause of the _funny business. _Even after the speech, Harry's spirits remained high. He couldn't wait to see the look on Dudley's face tomorrow.


	3. An Unexpected Conversation

**An Unexpected Conversation**

The first thing Harry noticed when he awoke was the smell. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was, but it was strong and acrid. From somewhere close by, he could hear the sound of a crackling fire and the faint murmur of running water. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and opened his eyes, looking around blearily. His vision was foggy, however it was clear from one glance that this wasn't his cupboard. He sat up straight and fumbled around for his glasses, his groggy mind trying to figure out what was going on. As he went to brush a loose hair out of his face, he stopped and patted the area around his eyes. He was already wearing his glasses.

He climbed to his feet and looked around, his brain finally starting to catch up with his body. Somehow, he wasn't in his cupboard and his glasses had suddenly stopped working. From what little he could make out, he realised that he was in a small chamber. He could feel cold stone beneath his bare feet and the walls looked like they were made from the same material as the floor. To his left, he could just about see the fireplace he'd heard and there was a dark shape to his right that looked like it could be a desk.

'_Where am I?_' Harry wondered.

"Somewhere you shouldn't be," said a voice.

Harry jumped and turned. Stood in front of the fireplace there was a man, who he was sure hadn't been there a second ago. Unlike everything else in this strange place, the man could be seen with perfect clarity. He was broad and muscular, though this physique was mostly hidden by a set of ornate red and gold robes. He wore a pair of intricate leather boots, matching gloves and three belts, all of which had golden buckles. From his neck, waist and wrists hung many golden charms bearing various symbols. Although Harry could see the man clearly, for some reason he couldn't quite make out his face. No matter how far he craned his neck, he could not look higher than the collar of the man's robes.

"At least, not yet. The time is not right," the man continued. His voice was a low rumble and sounded perfect for barking commands at people, but at the moment he seemed confused. Harry didn't know what was going on or who this man was, but he knew that he didn't like it. He took a cautious step backwards, away from both the man and the fire.

"You are frightened," the man noted, in a tone that was almost amused, "Good. You will need that fear before long, but this moment has come too soon. You have not yet formed your connection."

Harry had no idea what any of that meant, nor did he want to. He tried to take another step back, but he was alarmed to discover that he no longer had any control over his limbs. He struggled, or tried to, but his body refused to move even an inch.

"Peace," said the man, raising a gloved palm, "I am not what you should fear."

He began to walk slowly forwards with his hand outstretched, until he was stood not a foot in front of Harry. Again, Harry tried to look up into the man's eyes, but again he failed to.

"You must leave this place for now, Warrior," said the man, bringing his hand down towards Harry's forehead, "And awaken."

The moment his hand touched Harry's scar, the whole world went black.

o0o0o0o

Harry shot up so fast that he nearly hit his head on the ceiling. He gasped for breath and looked around, searching frantically with his hands for the light switch. The lightbulb flickered to life and illuminated Harry's cupboard.

He rubbed his temple with one hand, trying to ease the throbbing headache that had appeared there. Harry sighed and fell back onto his mattress, covering his face with his hands.

He was no stranger to weird dreams; he'd had them for as long as he could remember, but none of them had ever been this intense before. This one had been strange even by Harry's standards. He had no idea where that place was or who the stranger had been, although he couldn't shake the odd feeling of familiarity he'd gotten when facing him. It wasn't like he'd met him before and couldn't remember where, he had no idea who he was, he just felt like he could trust him for some reason.

_Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap._

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden rapping on his door.

"Boy? Are you up yet?" called his Aunt Petunia from the other side.

Harry groaned an sat up again, stretching his neck and arms. The mystery of the man in gold would have to wait it seemed.

"What was that?" came the shrill voice again.

"I said, 'nearly'," grumbled Harry, grabbing his glasses and reaching for his clothes.

"Well, hurry up!" snapped his Aunt, "I want you outside helping Vernon get the presents in before Dudders wakes up."

While he listened to his Aunt's retreating footsteps, Harry dressed himself in a grey t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, then wrapped a tattered belt twice around his middle. He grabbed a pair of Uncle Vernon's baby blue socks and some battered trainers, then stepped out of his cupboard and headed for the kitchen.

Once he entered, he made his way over to the table and sat down, pulling on his socks and shoes. There was a large pile of Dudley's presents stacked nearby, which Harry guessed to be about half of them. His aunt was over by the cooker, busy preparing four portions of breakfast food; one each for her and Vernon, two for Dudley and whatever was left over for Harry.

She looked at him and said, "Comb your hair."

"Good morning to you, too," Harry replied, his mood still foul after the rude awakening.

"I'll have none of that tone today, Boy," she snapped, "This is Dudley's special day and you will treat it as such."

'_No comments to be made about Prince Pig. Got it,'_ Harry nodded silently.

He left the kitchen through the back door and went into the garage, where he found his Uncle bending over another pile around equal size to the one inside.

"Don't stand there gawking," greeted his Uncle, standing up with an armful of presents, "Get moving, there's a lot to shift here."

Harry grabbed a large box which rattled when moved and began piling smaller presents on top of it. He picked it up cautiously, just as his Uncle returned for another load.

"Weather?" said Harry.

"Sunny," replied Vernon, "Good for a day out."

"News?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in, now get going."

They continued to ferry presents until the kitchen table was completely hidden by the wrapped boxes. Dudley came charging in a few seconds later. The kitchen rang with the booming call of, "Happy Birthday, son!" and the shrill cry of, "Happy Birthday, my sweetums!"

Vernon and Petunia gave Harry a stern look when he remained silent. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and said in a low monotone, "Happy Birthday, Dudley."

Dudley wasn't listening. He was too preoccupied with counting his presents to notice something as insignificant as Harry's voice. His face fell into a frown when he finished.

"Thirty-six," he said, "That's two less than last year."

'_Actually, you got thirty-nine last year, so really it's three less_' remembered Harry, '_But I don't think you need to know that._'

"No sweetie, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see," Petunia pointed out a small present hidden underneath the big box Harry had hauled in earlier.

"Okay then, thirty-seven, that's still not as many," Dudley's voice was shaking and his face was starting to colour. Harry, who could see a tantrum brewing behind those piggy little eyes, manoeuvred himself so that the table was between him and his cousin.

"And," continued Aunt Petunia, sensing the danger, "We'll buy you two more presents while we're out today. How's that sound?"

Dudley stopped brewing and frowned, obviously trying to do the maths, "So, I'll have thirty- thirty-"

"Thirty-nine," supplied Petunia.

"That's- is that more than last year?"

"Yes sweetie."

'_No, it isn't,_' thought Harry, '_But let's not tell your little angel that.'_

"Oh, okay," said Dudley, reaching for his first present. He actually looked disappointed that he didn't have a reason to start screaming.

Vernon and Petunia made Harry watch Dudley open his presents for the rest of the morning, but he got a larger plate of bacon and eggs for it, so he didn't really mind. Say what you will about his Aunt's parenting skills, but she could make a mighty fine breakfast.

By the time Dudley had finished, there was a clear pile of favourites, which included; his new cine-camera, a racing bike, sixteen new video games, a video recorder and a new computer. Right next to this was a smaller pile of things that would be put in his second bedroom and never heard from again. This pile mostly consisted of books, board games and a new rucksack.

It wasn't until Piers showed up later on and everyone headed outside towards the car, that the moment Harry had been waiting for finally arrived.

"Mum," said Dudley, pointing at Harry, "What's he still doing here?"

Petunia stopped and looked between the two boys. It seemed like she'd been hoping Dudley wouldn't notice his cousin. "Well, we can't leave him here, can we," she said delicately, "So, we're going to have to take him with us, I'm afraid."

"But, I thought he was going to the cat lady's house again," said Dudley.

"No, he can't this time sweetums," she said softly, "Mrs Figg isn't able to take him off our hands this time."

Harry didn't even care that they were talking about him like some animal they had been forced to take care of, the look on Dudley's face was priceless. It was obvious that he understood his dilemma. He couldn't get his parents to leave Harry behind without breaking down in a tantrum, but if he did that then Piers would see him acting like a mummy's boy and pretty soon everyone at school would know.

"But, he- he's not meant to be-" he blubbered, pointing at Harry.

Harry sidled past him while he babbled, sitting himself down in the back seat with a grin. This day just kept getting better and better.

After much moaning from Dudley and soothing words from Petunia, everyone finally piled into the car. The two adults sat in the front and the boys went in the back, with Harry ending up on the far left. Every time they went round a corner, Dudley and Piers would lean into the side, so as to crush Harry against the door. Meanwhile, Vernon complained non-stop to Petunia about various topics, while she simply listened and nodded at the appropriate times.

Once they arrived at the zoo, Vernon and Petunia went to a stand near the entrance, where they bought Dudley and Piers huge chocolate ice creams and got Harry a cheap lemon ice lolly as an afterthought. The boys themselves made a show of eating them slowly, trying to rub it in. Harry ignored them, all four of them. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter that Dudley was eleven today; this was Harry's day and he intended to make the most of it. He had ice cream and he was at the zoo, there was no way his cousin could ruin this for him.

He followed all of his Uncle's rules, making sure to lag far enough behind that he could peer into the enclosures without getting in the way. He spent most of the morning looking at various animals and noting the similarities they had with Dudley. After they'd seen most of the animals outside, they stopped for lunch at the zoo restaurant. The food there wasn't bad, even if Dudley and Piers stole most of what was on Harry's plate.

When afternoon came, they went to the reptile house. The building had small enclosures covered by lit glass dotted along the walls. Harry thought this was the best bit yet. It wasn't just because of the lizards and snakes which crawled and slithered in their cases; Harry just felt comfortable inside the cool, dark building with its low ceiling.

Dudley quickly found the biggest snake in the place. It was enormous, long enough that it could have easily wrapped itself twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it. However, much to Dudley's displeasure, it seemed to be asleep.

"Make it move," he demanded of his father, pressing his nose against the glass.

Uncle Vernon stepped up and rapped smartly on the glass. The snake stayed where it was.

"Move!" shouted Dudley, smacking the glass with his palm repeatedly.

The snake didn't respond.

"You're boring," he whined, before running off to look for Piers and his mother. His father trailed along behind him.

Harry stepped up to the glass and looked down at the brown coils sadly. He hadn't really noticed before, but these tiny cases where the reptiles were kept seemed awfully familiar. Cramped and simple, with stupid people constantly drumming their fingers on the glass, telling you to do this or do that. He felt a wave of sympathy for the creature in front of him, for all of the creatures there.

"I suppose I'm not the only one with a cupboard," said Harry, "At least I only have the Dursleys to worry about. You have to deal with everyone, day after day, looking in on you, shouting at you."

The snake stirred. Slowly, it began to uncoil and raised its head until it was eye-level with Harry. It looked him right in the eye and _winked_.

Harry stared, wondering if he was imagining things. He took a quick look around to make sure nobody else was watching, then looked back to the snake.

"C- can you hear me?" he gasped.

The snake nodded.

Not once in the following conversation did it ever occur to Harry that perhaps he may have gone mad. Maybe deep down some part of him knew that he wasn't crazy or maybe he just felt some sort of strange kinship with the reptile, but for whatever reason, he continued to talk and the snake spoke back.

"I guess you must get that a lot then," Harry jerked his head towards where Vernon and Dudley had run off.

The snake nodded and raised its eyes to the ceiling.

Harry grinned at it, not at all finding it strange that a snake would roll its eyes. "I know," he said, "They're all so stupid, thinking they know everything, that they're better than you."

The snake gave another nod and leaned in with interest.

"Where did you- that is, do have a home somewhere? From before all this," he gestured at their surroundings.

The snake bowed its head and jabbed its tail at the sign next to the glass. Harry looked down at it and read.

_Boa Constrictor, Brazil_

"Was it nice there?" asked Harry.

The constrictor shook its head and pointed at the sign again. Harry looked back and read the smaller line of text underneath.

_This specimen was bred in captivity._

Something about the words 'bred in captivity' made Harry's heart twist painfully. He gulped and said, "I- I'm sorry. So, you've never actually been to Brazil."

The snake shook its head.

"But, do you still think of it as home?" Harry asked.

The boa constrictor made an odd movement that Harry thought resembled a shrug.

"I think I understand," he said, "You've been here your whole life, you've never known anything else, but you still feel like you don't belong. You just _know _that there's something out there for you, somewhere you can actually call home. You can't explain why. You just do."

The snake nodded vigorously. Apparently, it knew exactly what he was talking about.

"It's like that for me too," said Harry, "I lost my parents a long time ago. I've never known life without the Dursleys, but it still feels _wrong."_

The two of them, boy and reptile, stayed there in silence for a moment, until Harry said, "Do you ever-"

"Dudley! Dudley come quick! Look at what this snake is doing!"

Harry turned at the sound of Piers yelling and saw Dudley's hulking form shambling towards him.

"Out of the way Potter," he said, punching Harry in the chest.

Harry fell backwards from the force of the blow and landed hard on the concrete floor. He looked up at Dudley pressing his face against the glass and felt hot anger flow through him. His entire being seemed to vibrate with rage, not unlike when he'd reacted to Dudley threatening that girl yesterday, however this was much stronger than before.

Without any prior warning, the glass in front of the snake vanished and Dudley toppled forwards into the enclosure with a frightened yell.

Suddenly, the entire room was filled with terrified screams. Harry looked around and saw that the glass had disappeared from every case in the building. Long, scaly creatures were climbing or sliding out of their now open windows and making their slow way towards freedom. One of the zoo staff was fruitlessly trying to restore order as people ran around in their panic.

Harry turned back to the Boa Constrictor's case and found the snake itself not far from his face. He stared into the creatures eyes, knowing it wouldn't hurt him.

"Thanks friend," said the snake in a low hiss.

Harry blinked in surprise and smiled, still feeling the buzz of whatever had just happened. "Anytime," he managed to gasp out.

The snake gave him a tilt of its head and then slithered off down the room to join its fellows outside, playfully biting at people's ankles as it went.

"Friend," whispered Harry after its retreating form.

He could hear something strange behind him, a sort of wet slapping sound. He turned and saw Dudley, dripping wet from the water in the enclosure. He was still inside the case, smacking against the newly reformed glass pane from the inside.

"Dudley!"

Harry looked towards the shout and saw Vernon and Petunia, both wearing horrified expressions as they beheld their son trapped like an animal. Petunia ran up and began to bang on the glass, babbling hysterically as she did so. Dudley's nose was pressed up against the inner face and it looked like he was crying. Vernon turned on the spot, looking for somebody to yell at, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a python slithered past about an inch away from his feet.

Harry couldn't help himself, he just started laughing. He laughed and he laughed. He laughed while the people around him gibbered and screamed. He laughed at the zoo keeper's startled face when he saw Dudley. He laughed when they found Piers curled up in a dark corner.

He had just about got a handle on his giggles when Aunt Petunia was led away by the director and a group of men arrived to break Dudley free. The entire staff was baffled by the whole event, as were the visitors. Harry overheard at least three accounts of people who claimed to have been attacked by venomous snakes or lizards, though as far as he was aware, nobody had even gotten a scratch on them.

They didn't leave for a while, mainly because Uncle Vernon was busy shouting his lungs off at the people that worked there. Petunia was very quiet and sat stewing over a cup of strong tea, while Dudley, wrapped in about five towels, babbled on with Piers about how the Constrictor had nearly torn his leg off.

The two boys continued going on about it all the way home from the zoo, but Harry stayed very quiet. He just sat in the back seat and stared out of the window, not moving an inch. Now that the laughter had abated, his head was clear enough for him to start digesting his thoughts. Every time something strange like this happened, he couldn't help but wonder; what if the Dursleys weren't crazy? What if he really was responsible for what was happening? He always got a strange feeling right before it happened, but he'd never felt anything like this before. It had been far more than just a tiny spark in the back of his mind, it had been like his entire body was thrumming with some unexplainable power. He'd also never seen two occurrences happen this close together before, but he had no clue what that meant.

It was once they were almost at Piers house that Harry stirred. He'd heard his name mentioned by someone in conversation up front.

"It's true," said Piers, "Harry was talking to that snake, the big one you and Dudley found, Mr Dursley. Right before the glass vanished, it was."

Harry clenched his teeth and prayed that nobody would believe the boy, even though he knew his luck was never that good. He continued looking studiously out of the window as if no-one but him existed. His Uncle's warning ringing through his ears. Even after they got back to Privet Drive, Harry waited to be the last one to enter the house, falling into his customary tactic of trying to be invisible.

They'd only just stepped through the door when Vernon briskly told Petunia to take Dudley into the kitchen and make him a cup of hot chocolate. Harry moved as fast as he could towards his cupboard, but was halted by a sharp pain in the back of his head. He had barely registered that Vernon had hold of him by his hair, before he was thrown through the open door and into the living room.

He staggered in a landing and rubbed the back of his neck, turning to see Vernon bearing down on him with a fire in his eyes. He stepped backwards and nearly tripped over the couch behind him.

Vernon's eyes bore into him like drills and his face was burning red. Harry had never seen his Uncle give that look before. Not to anybody.

"What. Was. _That_?" he spat.

Harry didn't answer, not sure what he was supposed to say.

"_Well!_" Vernon snapped impatiently.

"I- I'm not-" stammered Harry, "I don't-"

"_Don't,_" warned Vernon, raising one finger to Harry's face threateningly, "Don't you _dare_ say you don't know. Don't even dare. I've been good to you, boy, better than I had any right to be, because I hoped that you'd be different, that all those strange little things about you were just coincidences or some natural process you people go through when you're young. It seems I was wrong."

Harry was getting very confused and Vernon's face was now an ugly shade of purple.

"We both heard what that Polkiss boy said," Vernon continued, "You were talking to that snake."

Harry shook his head.

"DON'T LIE!" thundered Vernon, "So what was it then? Hmm? Did you decide to have a bit of fun and lock Dudley in with that thing? I heard you at the zoo, laughing like you'd won the_ bloody_ lottery."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" shouted Harry.

Harry was fully aware that he was currently stomping on ice so thin it nearly wasn't there at all, but he didn't care. He was fed up of this pompous old man blaming him for everything out of his control. The majority of his mind was feebly begging him to back down, but the tiny part that wasn't was roaring at him to continue.

"I've no idea what you're going on about," Harry said, taking a step forward himself, "I was talking to the snake. It wasn't like it was talking back. It's not my fault that your stupid, fat pig of a son went and got himself-"

_SMACK._

Harry fell back onto the coach and gasped in pain. He gingerly raised a hand to his cheek and winced at the pain when they connected. He twisted and saw his Uncle's hand still raised after the stinging backhand he'd just delivered to his nephew.

Harry was stunned. He had no idea how to respond. Even Vernon looked shocked at his actions, his eyes bulging. The big man lowered his hand and said in a level voice, "Go to your cupboard."

Harry didn't move, still dazed from the blow.

"NOW!" shouted Vernon.

Harry scrambled for the door, still cupping his face in one hand. As he opened the door, his Uncle called back to him.

"Boy!"

Harry turned slowly and saw his Uncle staring at him with an unreadable expression.

"Don't ever speak that way about my son again," Vernon said, his eyes holding a promise. A promise that Harry would receive far worse than this if he ever did.

Harry swallowed the lump that was stuck in his throat and nodded, then sprinted for his cupboard across the hall. He slammed the door and pulled the bolt closed.

He fell back against his pillows and stared at the ceiling. His uncle had never hit him before. Perhaps he'd been a bit rougher than necessary sometimes, but he had never actually raised a hand against him. Harry had experienced many beatings worse than this one at the hands of Dudley, but this time was different. His Uncle could be many things; angry, calm, even loving with his wife and son, but Harry had never thought that he could be so violent.

He raised a palm to the red mark that was sure to be forming on his cheek. The worst part was that Harry had no idea what he had done to deserve this. Normally, when something odd happened, he would be asked if he knew anything about it, he would say no and his Aunt and Uncle would lock him in the cupboard. This time, it had sounded like Vernon _knew_ that Harry was behind what happened at the zoo and was convinced that Harry knew it too.

'_He said "_your people_",_' remembered Harry, '_Like he knew something about me. Like we weren't the same._'

It was completely absurd. Harry wasn't special, he was just a normal boy. No, he wasn't even that, he was the boy in the cupboard. He didn't have special powers or a guardian angel, because there was no such thing. The Dursleys had always made it clear to him that there was a big difference between stories and reality, no amount of bedtime fantasy books could ever change that. There was no logical way that Harry could be connected to any of the things that happened around him.

Then again, what happened right before wasn't exactly normal. It was strange how it only occurred to Harry now that talking to a snake was not something most people did when they went to the zoo. It went a long way to explaining why Vernon thought he was involved, but didn't help him at all in understanding his Uncle's explosive reaction.

So, Harry Potter wondered, not for the first time in his life, '_What if it's true? What if the Dursleys are right about me? What if I am different?_'

_What if?_


	4. A Letter for Harry

**o0o0o0o**

**A Letter for Harry**

The incident at the zoo earned Harry a longer stay in the cupboard than ever before. He'd expected no less after the reaction he'd received and wasn't surprised that he had to wait until the summer holidays to be given his freedom again. He spent most of the time in his cupboard rereading his collection of books. The same '_what if' _questions were ringing through his head whenever he saw words like _magic_ or _illusion._

It was clear when he got out that the entire attitude of the Dursleys had shifted after that day. Vernon now spent most of his time pretending that Harry didn't exist. There were no more morning exchanges over the news, nor any warnings about unnatural behaviour. In fact, the only time Vernon actually spoke to Harry was to tell him to do his chores and even then it was no more than two or three words. His act only broke when Harry entered a room with Dudley or Petunia in it. When this happened, Vernon would throw him a sharp warning glance, like they both knew something that the other two didn't.

Petunia was also a lot quieter around him and when she did speak, her voice was much stiffer. She used to spit out any word she said to him, but nowadays she mostly spoke in a clipped formal tone and never looked him directly in the eye, always slightly over his head, as though he was beneath her notice. Once or twice, whenever he knocked something off a counter or spilt something on the carpet, she would fall into old habits and snap at him to "_watch where you're going"_ or "_clean that up"_.

Dudley showed the least change, however you could see in his eyes that he had also been affected. He flinched every time somebody mentioned snakes and always tried to position himself away from any windows, eyeing them suspiciously. If it had been anyone else, Harry would have felt sorry for them, but if anybody deserved to be knocked down a peg or two, it was Dudley.

Unfortunately, Dudley mainly remained his big, stupid self and since it was the holidays, his friends often came over to play on his computer or go out and hang around at the local park. It seemed that Malcolm had been accepted as a permanent member of the gang, which meant that Harry now had five problems instead of four. These visits were the reason that Harry spent most of his time outside of the house. Usually, he just wandered the area of Little Whinging, but from time to time he went over to Mrs Figg's house.

Arabella Figg was a mad old lady who lived just down the road on Wisteria Walk. She had moved to the area only a day or two before Harry had been dropped off on the Dursleys' doorstep and he had known her for his entire life. Whenever the Dursleys went on holiday or out somewhere interesting for the day, they would usually leave Harry behind with Mrs Figg.

Harry had very mixed feelings about those visits. One the one hand, he absolutely hated her house. It always smelled of cabbage and everything she owned was centuries old. Pretty much all of the furniture, carpets and walls were one of two colours, cream or brown, and were usually also covered in a thick layer of cat hair. Then, there were the cats themselves. Harry had never really liked cats, probably because of all the ones he had seen while at Mrs Figg's. She had at least twenty of them in total and there was always three or four in each room, clambering over the furniture or sitting in the shadows. Now and again, they could be seen roaming around the area of Little Whinging, watching the people go about their daily business. Harry had noticed that they seemed to enjoy stalking around Privet Drive in particular.

On the other hand, there was Mrs Figg herself. Despite how awful the visits could be, Harry really liked the old woman. She treated him well and made sure he was properly fed and watered when he came over, even if she was absurdly strict regarding her cats. She was often sharp and direct with her words, sometimes coming off as a bit rude, but she would never intentionally insult you. It was from her that Harry had picked up his dry sense of humour and they always had a good laugh whenever she told him some story about one of her old cats. The only big problem Harry had with her was that she didn't like him asking any questions about herself. She'd always get a closed-off look on her face and tell him to mind his own business. She was also a bit mad; Harry could swear he'd heard her talking to her cats more than once.

One of his most memorable visits to the house had been a few years back. Mrs Figg had just finished telling him a story about Ser Pounce-a-lot, one of her very first cats. She had given Harry a piece of chocolate cake which tasted like she had bought it at an antiques shop and then shambled off to make some tea. Harry had lost interest in the cake after one bite and decided to go and see if he could help instead of sitting around twiddling his thumbs.

He had cracked open the door of the kitchen and peeked inside, where he saw a most peculiar sight. Mrs Figg was stood in front of her kettle, holding a short wooden rod in her hand. Harry watched with curiosity as she pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and read the text on it slowly. She placed the paper on the counter before her and raised the piece of wood, her face scrunched in concentration. She said something that Harry didn't quite catch and tapped the kettle twice. Nothing seemed to happen. The old woman's face fell and she sighed with disappointment.

It was then that she noticed Harry. She turned to him sharply and stowed away the wood and paper so fast that Harry barely saw them move. He had made a little squeaking noise and backed into the sitting room, moving quickly to his seat and stuffing a piece of cake into his mouth, startling a nearby cat with his sudden movements. When Mrs Figg came in, she fixed him with a scrutinising stare and sat down opposite him.

He'd been younger back then and he hadn't quite learned when to keep his curiosity to himself. "Mrs Figg, what were you doing to the kettle?" he'd asked her.

She'd looked at him over her cup through narrow eyes and said, "Hitting it. I thought you saw that well enough."

Harry's brow had crinkled in confusion. "But, why?" he'd said.

She'd given him a tight smile in response and just told him to finish his cake.

Other than that one incident, his visits to the cat lady's house were never really that interesting, but it was his best place to hide when Dudley's gang was around. Harry was greatly looking forward to the end of the holidays, because that was when he would start at secondary school. For the first time in his life he wouldn't have to be around Dudley all day. Dudley and his friends were all going to Uncle Vernon's old school, Smeltings, a boys-only academy. They were the only five boys from their primary school to be accepted there, which is probably how Malcolm had been recruited by the others. Harry, on the other hand, would be going to the local comprehensive, Stonewall.

Dudley always laughed when Harry's new school was brought up and it wasn't until Harry got annoyed and asked what was so funny that he told him why. According to his cousin, the older kids at Stonewall liked to shove the first years' heads down the toilet on the first day. Harry assumed that Dudley had meant to scare him with the story, but all it did was give him a mental image of Dudley's head being forced into a toilet bowl. He was almost sorry that his cousin wouldn't be joining him next year.

Then came the day when Dudley received his new uniform. Smeltings was very strict about what their students could wear, making an effort to ensure that their students looked, in Uncle Vernon's own words, "sophisticated and respectable._"_

The uniform consisted of a maroon tailcoat and jumper, orange knickerbockers and a flat straw hat called a boater. An optional addition to this outfit was a knobbly stick, which Vernon claimed was to make the boys look more dignified, but Harry suspected would more often be used for hitting other students. Dudley spent the entire evening parading around in his new attire, a pompous smile on his face as he swung the Smeltings stick in a circle beside him.

Petunia sobbed at the sight and went on and on about how she couldn't believe her little boy was all grown up. Vernon gave a watery smile to his son and declared that moment to be the proudest of his life. Harry nearly cracked his ribs trying not to laugh, especially when his aunt descended on Dudley and began covering his face with kisses, much to the Smeltings boy's horror.

His enjoyment was short-lived however, when Petunia showed him his own uniform the next day. The first thing he noticed about it was the horrible smell that filled the kitchen when he came in for breakfast that morning. Further investigation led him to a metal tub in the sink, which was filled with what looked like bits of old elephant skin soaked in dirty water.

"Stonewall doesn't have a uniform, as such," Petunia explained when he asked about it, "They just want everything you wear to be grey, so I'm dying some of Dudley's old things for you."

Harry looked at her in disbelief. "_This_ is my new uniform?" he said in disgust.

"Do you have a problem with it?" she asked coldly.

"Well it's a bit wet for starters," he said.

She scowled at him and turned back to making the breakfast. He sighed in defeat when he realised the discussion was over and took a seat at the table. He'd hoped that this year, since he needed a new uniform, he'd be able to wear clothes which actually fit him, but fate really didn't seem to like him very much. He tried not to think what he would look like on his first day at school.

Dudley and Vernon entered a few minutes later. Vernon held a newspaper, which he promptly disappeared behind, and Dudley carried his Smeltings stick. He had grown quite attached to the glorified club.

They ate breakfast in near silence, which was only broken occasionally by Vernon's loud complaints about various things he found in his morning paper. Dudley spent most of the meal using his Smeltings stick to hit Harry on the shins under the table, so Harry was greatly relieved when Vernon barked at him to fetch the post. He went the long way around the table to avoid being tripped by Dudley and headed out into the hall. He bent to pick up the pile of letters.

There was a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was on holiday on the Isle of Wight, three brown envelopes which Harry guessed were bills, a bank statement and a heavy envelope made of what looked like parchment.

Harry inspected the last item closely. It was a very strange letter; unlike most modern envelopes, which were sealed with glue on the inner lip, this one bore a purple wax seal with some kind of symbol on it. Harry squinted at it and saw that it was actually a coat of arms; a badger, a lion, an eagle and a serpent all surrounding a large capital 'H'. His curiosity getting the better of him, Harry turned the letter over to see who it was addressed to and nearly dropped it in shock.

Written on the envelope, in bright emerald-green ink, were the words:

_Mr H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

Harry stared. He had never gotten a letter before. He had dreamed, of course, of some distant relative trying to contact him, but they were just dreams. Nobody ever wanted to talk to Harry, let alone enough to write to him. He'd never even gotten an angry note from the library, since his relatives didn't want him affiliated with a place where he could find so much fiction.

As if his name wasn't strange enough, Harry was pretty sure that nobody used parchment or wax seals these days. '_People don't normally put the place you sleep on your letter do they?_' wondered Harry, '_Wait a minute, how does this person know where I sleep at all?_'

"Boy! What's taking so long out there?" Petunia's shrill voice cut through the air.

Harry looked longingly at his letter, before stuffing it into his back pocket and taking the rest of the post back to the kitchen. He could read it later when he was alone in his cupboard.

'_My letter,_' the thought made Harry feel giddy.

He dropped the post onto Vernon's empty plate and cleared away his own plate and cutlery, then started moving swiftly back towards the hallway trying to avoid putting a spring in his step. However, in his haste to get away, Harry completely forgot to watch out for Dudley and his Smeltings stick. His legs collided with the hard wood and went out from under him causing him to crash face first into the floor, his glasses flying across the room.

"Mum! Dad!" shouted Dudley, "Harry's got a letter. In his pocket, look!"

Harry groaned in pain and scrambled for his glasses. A great weight landed on his back and forced the air out of his lungs. While he gasped for breath, Dudley pulled the letter out of his pocket and climbed off him, taking care to step on his fingers as he did so. Harry grabbed his glasses and pushed himself to his feet, just in time to see Vernon snatch the letter out of Dudley's hands.

His Uncle gave him a dark glare. "What do you think you're doing, boy?" he spat, "Running off with our mail. Who do you think you are?"

It was the most Vernon had said to him in one go since the argument after the zoo, but Harry didn't notice. "Give it back," he said, "It's mine."

All three Dursleys gave him a confused frown. "Yours?" said Petunia disbelievingly, "Do you think we're idiots, boy? Who would want to write to- to-" She had just caught sight of the purple seal and her eyes bulged. She grabbed her husband's arm and gripped it tight. "V- Vernon," she squeaked, pointing at the parchment, "Look."

Mr Dursley followed his wife's finger and the colour drained from his face. He looked at Petunia, then back to the letter and finally at Harry, his eyes turning to steel. Harry gulped.

"Dudley," said the big man quietly, "Wait outside."

Dudley looked at his father, "But, Dad-"

"Now Dudley!" he interrupted.

Everyone stared at Mr Dursley. He never shouted at his son. Never.

Dudley himself whimpered and ran from the room, slamming the door closed behind him. Vernon then rounded on Harry, his dark gaze cutting right through the small boy. Harry took a step back in fear.

Vernon raised the letter. "Where did this come from?" he asked menacingly.

"It was in the post," said Harry.

"You know what I mean, boy!" thundered Vernon, "I let you off easy last time, but this is _my_ house and you've gone too far."

"I don't know who it's from," said Harry honestly.

"Don't lie to us," snapped his Aunt, "How else would these- these people have our address? How could they know where you sleep?"

"When did you contact them? Was it on one of your little strolls around the neighbourhood?" asked Vernon.

Harry looked between his two relatives, trying to understand what was happening. He was reminded heavily of his confrontation with Vernon a month ago. "I- I don't know what you mean," he said, "I don't know where it came from. I haven't contacted anyone."

'_Why would I?_' he thought, '_It's not like anyone would actually want to speak with me- well, apparently they would, but how was I supposed to know that?_'

"Do you expect us to believe that?" she scoffed, "You're just like the rest of them, aren't you? I thought we could stamp it out of you, make you somewhat respectable, but your kind obviously don't care any for that."

"I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" screamed Harry in frustration, his hands balling into fists.

His Uncle moved suddenly, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him against the wall. He yelped in pain and heard his Aunt let out a shocked, "Vernon!" in the background. His Uncle was looking at him with a fire in his eyes, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

"Say. That. Again," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Harry squirmed, causing Vernon's grip to tighten, and looked his uncle directly in the eyes. His heart was beating rapidly against his ribcage, but he kept his gaze level and managed to choke out, "I d- don't know where it came from."

His Uncle dropped him to the ground and stepped back. Harry rubbed his shoulders and watched some of the anger slip from Vernon's face. "Go to your cupboard," he said firmly.

Harry looked up at him, then stood as straight as he could and said as boldly as he could, "I want my letter."

Vernon stepped forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Harry. Harry forced himself to stay his ground, even while the last dregs of his courage began to slip away. "Cupboard. Now," spat Vernon. His eyes held a dangerous spark that could burst into a flame of rage again at any moment.

Harry gulped and backed away from the dark look, his resolve finally breaking. He walked to the door and stepped out into the hall. Dudley was stood just outside the entrance, it looked like he'd been eavesdropping.

"What was that about, Potter?" he asked quietly.

Harry shrugged and moved to listen at the keyhole. His cousin tried to push him out of the way, starting a brief and silent fight which Harry inevitably lost, forcing him to lie flat on his belly and listen to the crack under the door instead.

"-sure he doesn't know then?" he heard his Aunt saying. He was fairly sure he knew who she was talking about.

"No," replied Vernon, "I could see it in his eyes, he has no idea what's going on."

"Did you really have to be so violent with him?" she asked.

"I needed to get my point across," argued Vernon pathetically. There was a short moment of silence before he said, "Oh, I don't know. I just can't stand the thought of one of _them_ in the house with us, with Dudley. We swore we would have nothing to do with any of them and then they go and drop this on our heads."

"I understand Vernon. I'm as scared as you are, especially after what happened to my sister, but perhaps we've handled it in the wrong way."

"That's my point though," said Vernon, "What happened to that boy's parents could just as easy happen to us as well. Didn't we always say that their life would come back to bite them eventually? I don't want us involved with people like that."

"We might already be involved, though," said Petunia, "They already seem to know so much about us. I mean, they even knew about his cupboard."

"I bet they're all untrustworthy types, like that Potter bloke," said Vernon, "I bet they've got a hundred-and-one different ways of spying on people like us. We should probably do something about that. If they know where he's been sleeping, it could go badly for us."

"What are we going to do about this, then?" asked Petunia. Harry assumed she was talking about the letter.

"What's there to do?" said Vernon, "We'll ignore them, like we said we would ten years ago. Keep ourselves and that boy out of their world."

"I don't think it will be that easy, dear."

"It never is with these people," grumbled Vernon.

That evening, something happened which had never happened before in Harry's time at Privet Drive; Uncle Vernon visited him in his cupboard. His enormous form completely filled the door frame, blocking out any view of the hall outside.

"Where's my letter?" asked Harry the moment his Uncle appeared.

"I have burnt it," said Vernon crisply, "It wasn't something your Aunt or I approved of."

Harry felt like a lead weight had been dropped in his stomach, "What do you mean you've burnt it? You can't do that, it was my letter!"

"It was from people we do not want you associating with. Dangerous people," explained Vernon impatiently.

"What, like my parents?" said Harry.

"Yes," replied Vernon shortly.

Harry's teeth clenched. "What were you talking about before?" he demanded to know, "What did you mean '_my kind_'? Who was that letter from?"

"That is none of your business," snapped his Uncle.

"Of course it's my business. That was _my_ letter, it had _my_ cupboard on it," he countered.

"Be quiet!" yelled Vernon. He took a deep breath and put a smile on his face which was painfully fake, "Er- about this cupboard- Harry- me and your Aunt, think you're getting a bit too big for it. We think it might be time for you to move into Dudley's second bedroom."

Harry blinked in surprise and not just because Vernon had used his name. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"I just told you," said Vernon irritably, "Now, gather your things and move them upstairs."

Vernon shut the door and Harry sighed, before sitting up and getting to work. It took him just one trip to move all of his possessions upstairs, carrying them by using an old bed sheet as a makeshift satchel. He threw the load on his new bed and sat down, taking in his surroundings.

Nearly everything in the room was broken. The cine-camera which Dudley had received only a month back was sat atop what remained of his first TV set, which he had put his foot through years ago. There was a large bird cage, which had once held a parrot and an air rifle which had been bent out of shape when Dudley sat on it. The only things that were not broken in this room were the books, which looked like they'd been in the same place for years, and the boardgames, which were all still in their boxes, some of them still sealed.

Harry fell back onto the mattress and ran his hands down his face. He couldn't even enjoy finally having his own room. He had no idea how many times he's dreamed of having this room for himself, but that letter was still weighing down on him like a sack of bricks. His life had taken a decidedly odd turn in the past month or so. It wasn't like he'd been a normal child before that, but ever since Dudley's birthday he'd become a magnet for strangeness. Normally, he would try to put whatever happened out of his mind, because the Dursleys didn't like him talking about such things, but this time was different. This time, he knew that the Dursleys were hiding something from him. They knew_ something_; about the letter, about what happened at the zoo, about his parents, about _him_. Whatever this was, it was big and he would find some way to get the truth.

The next morning, there was a thick tension hanging over the table at breakfast. Dudley was sulking. He'd thrown a massive tantrum yesterday, demanding that Harry be thrown out of his room, but to no avail. Harry was sat quietly, silently berating himself for not being more careful with that letter. Vernon and Petunia kept giving each other meaningful looks and deliberately avoided Harry's eyes.

When they heard the post arrive, Vernon looked up and, to both boys' surprise, told Dudley to go and get it.

Dudley stared at his father in shock. "Make Harry go and get it," he said.

"Please go and get the post, son," said Vernon gruffly. It was obvious he didn't like this any more than Dudley did.

The boy scowled and stood up, kicking his chair away. He stomped out of the door and into the hall. Everyone at the table held their breath. They could hear the Smeltings stick banging against the wall as he went, then silence.

"There's another one!" shouted Dudley, "_Mr H Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-_"

Harry and Vernon both moved towards the door, but as Harry was faster, he got there first. He collided with Dudley's enormous form and the enormous boy was so surprised that they both went tumbling to the floor. They had a short scuffle over the letter, which was ended prematurely by Uncle Vernon grabbing them by the collars and pulling them apart. He swiped the letter off the floor and ordered them both to their rooms, then went back into the kitchen to talk with Petunia.

Harry was even more shocked than he'd been after the first letter. Someone knew that he was no longer in his cupboard. More than that, someone knew he hadn't received his first letter.

That night, he couldn't get to sleep. His mind was too laden with thoughts of his mysterious contact for him to keep his eyes closed. He was certain that whoever it was would try again, though he wasn't sure why. He had to find some way of getting that letter and waiting for it to be delivered to the door again didn't seem like the best plan.

Making a decision, he grabbed an old torch from one of the piles of junk in his room and pulled on a coat and some shoes. Very cautiously, he made his way to the Dursleys' room. He opened the door a crack and checked that they were both still in bed. Once he was sure that they were, he began to tip-toe quietly down the stairs. He found a key next to the front door and let himself out.

The cold air hit him in the face and he wrapped his coat tighter around himself. He closed the front door softly, before finding a spot in one of the flowerbeds below the window to hide in. He would stay here for the whole night and, when the postman showed up, he would climb out and get his letter himself. This way, neither of the Dursleys could interfere. Settling back, he rested his head on the ground.

o0o0o0o

_Darkness_

That was all there was. No light. No sound. Nothing at all which any of the human senses could detect. There was only the emptiness, the sort which could send a person mad if they spent any decent length of time in it.

That was where Harry found himself or perhaps, it would be more appropriate to say, didn't find himself.

Suddenly, there was light. A bright green flash of light, accompanied by a sound not unlike that of a hurricane and the feeling of a thousand burning daggers being pressed into a single spot in the centre of his head. The air was filled with the pungent smell of burning flesh and a strange metallic taste which clung to the tongue. The sensations all seemed to be omnidirectional; they didn't come from anywhere, they were just there.

Then, the feelings were gone, as fast as they had come. The only thing which remained was a faint sound in the distance.

It was a scream. A high-pitched, painful scream. The scream of some wretched thing being torn in two. It was the sound of something dark, broken and angry. The sound of something evil.

o0o0o0o

Harry awoke with a start. He must have dozed off during the night, despite his reluctance to sleep. He looked up from where he lay, surrounded by flowers, and glanced at the sky. It was still early morning from the looks of it and the Dursleys were probably still in bed.

He shut his eyes and groaned, raising one hand to trace the mark on his forehead. It was not the first time he'd had this dream and he seriously doubted that it would be the last. It was always the same, with the endless darkness followed by an explosion of colour and sound. The only aspect of his dream which ever changed was the final moments. It was on very rare occasions that he could make out the scream in the background as the other sounds faded away.

It hadn't taken him that long to figure out that what he was seeing was the crash which killed his parents. It would explain the strange rushing sound and the white-hot pain which went through his forehead, although he wasn't sure where all of that green light came from. The scream didn't seem to fit with that theory either. He had often wondered if it was one of his parents, but he didn't think so. Something about the scream grated at him and left him feeling unclean after he heard it. He was sure that neither of his parents could have ever made a sound so tortured and inhuman, no matter bad the Dursleys' made them sound.

Harry stayed hidden under the window for at least half an hour, until he spotted the postman approaching from the end of the street. He sat himself up and prepared to creep out into view, but ducked back down again when he heard the front door begin to open. He watched in dismay as Uncle Vernon stepped out into the morning sun and made his way to the end of the drive, tearing into a bacon sandwich in one hand as he went.

Mr Dursley met the other man outside Number 4 and had a brief conversation with him. It appeared that he was confused as to why Vernon had come out to meet him. Eventually, he handed over a stack of letters and Harry watched from a distance in defeat as Vernon waved him away.

Vernon turned to look right at the place where Harry was hidden. Clearly, he had already anticipated that his nephew would try something like this. He held up his right hand and showed off three pieces of parchment with emerald writing on them, grinning victoriously. He strolled back into the house, whistling a tune as he did so.

When Harry entered the kitchen a minute or two later, he found his Uncle stood by the sink, holding a box of matches while he watched something burn. Harry didn't need to look to know what it was. He forced himself to quench the anger bubbling in his chest and slumped into a chair. He grabbed some food, hardly hearing his Aunt berating him for dirtying his clothes.

That evening, Harry walked into the hall to find Vernon crouched by the door and Petunia stood over him with a worried look on her face. A closer look showed Harry that his Uncle was actually nailing the letter-box shut.

"-they can't deliver them, then they'll stop sending them," his Uncle was saying.

"I'm not sure that will work Vernon," said his Aunt, "They can be very creative when they want to be."

"As much as I love to insult them, they're not stupid," said Vernon, "I know this won't stop them, but they should get the message that we're not interested once they see it. Then they'll leave us alone."

Petunia still looked dubious, but remained quiet. Harry didn't even bother to ask who they were talking about. Their answer wasn't going to change.

On Friday, it became clear that Uncle Vernon's efforts had indeed been in vain. No fewer than twelve letters showed up, Harry was actually impressed by how creative the people writing to him had gotten. The letters had been slotted through cracks in the door or pushed through various windows, meaning that they cropped up all over the house. His Aunt and Uncle dashed about the house all morning, trying to gather up all of the letters before Harry could snatch one away.

Vernon was getting increasingly irritable, snapping at people for the smallest things. He spent that day boarding up every tiny crack which was big enough to fit a letter through, all the while grumbling to himself about people not knowing when they weren't wanted.

On Saturday, Vernon was nearly at breaking point. Thirty letters showed up addressed to Harry that day. Most of them had been rolled up and hidden inside the egg boxes which Petunia received through the window, but a few of them had miraculously found their way into the cereal boxes in the cupboards.

Dudley was very confused by this whole turn of events, he had never seen his parents fuss so much over something that wasn't him. He constantly tried to shift their attention away from Harry and his letters and back onto him, doing everything from hanging off his mother's arm all day to throwing his pet tortoise through the roof of the greenhouse.

This did nothing to help Vernon's mood. By this point, the big man was downright dangerous. His face seemed to have reached a permanent shade of red and he never spoke to anyone calmly, always snapping or shouting. He could be seen stalking about the house and randomly opening drawers and cupboards, searching for any hidden letters.

On Sunday, Vernon looked very tired and ill, but had some semblance of a smile on his face. Once they were all sat at the table, he declared cheerfully, "Fine day, Sunday. Good breakfast, no work, a nice roast in the evening," he turned to Dudley and Harry, "What do you think boys, what's the best bit about a Sunday?"

Dudley shook his head, but Harry looked up glumly, knowing what his Uncle wanted him to say. "There's no post on Sundays," he guessed.

"Right you are Harry," nodded Vernon, grinning madly, "No post today, not one letter. Not a single bloody letter."

He giggled. The other three exchanged glances, all equally worried about Vernon's state of mind.

"Not one blasted-"

Out of nowhere, something flew into the room and hit him hard on the back of the head. Everyone looked around in confusion. Vernon bent and picked the object up off the floor. It was one of the letters.

"But it- they-" he spluttered, looking a bit lost.

The next moment, the entire room began to shake and sixty or seventy letters came shooting out of the fireplace, filling the kitchen completely. Petunia and Dudley screamed and ran from the room, but Harry stayed and tried to catch one. Vernon let out a roar like a wounded animal, his face turning purple. He grabbed Harry by the waist and pulled him into the hall, slamming the door shut behind them.

The letters continued to bombard the door from the other side, but it held fast. Vernon straightened and looked down at the other three. His eyes were burning and his face looked like it was about to pop.

"Pack your bags, all of you!" he ordered them, "We're leaving!"


	5. The Madness of Mr Dursley

**o0o0o0o**

**The Madness of Mr Dursley**

Everyone was very rushed in packing their things. Vernon instructed them to only take what they needed and none of them wanted to cross him while he was in this state. This didn't stop Dudley from trying to pack his television in a sports bag. Harry would have laughed if he wasn't so terrified by the look on his Uncle's face.

Only Vernon himself packed anything substantial. For some reason, he had packed a tent, sleeping bags, a first aid kit and some tinned food. It was as if he thought they were going on a camping trip.

Once they'd forced their way through the boarded-up door; Harry, Dudley and Petunia sat anxiously in the car, waiting for Vernon to drive them off to who-knows-where. The big man strode briskly out of the house and towards them. When he reached the driver's side door, he paused. He stood as still as stone, staring at something in the direction of the street.

Harry wound down his window and poked his head out to have a look. Outside, he could see that every house on the street was covered by grey, brown and black shapes that had not been there a few minutes ago. He heard a noise behind him and twisted his head to look back at Number 4. The same shapes blanketed that building and up close he could see them for what they were. Cats, all staring down at the car with curious eyes. Some of them Harry recognised as belonging to Mrs Figg, but most of them were unfamiliar to him. The felines all seemed to be hissing and growling in the direction of Uncle Vernon. Harry could see that several of the neighbours had come outside to find out what the commotion was.

He was snapped out of his rapture by a shout of surprise from the front seat. He looked over. Petunia had opened the glove box, probably to look for a map, but instead a large stack of parchment letters with emerald writing had fallen onto her lap. Her shout had brought Vernon to his senses as well and he clambered into the front seat hastily.

Harry tried to lean forward and grab one of the letters, but his Uncle stuck an arm out to block him. "Dudley," he said, "Get control of your cousin."

Harry felt one of Dudley's fists impact his side, but he kept scrambling to reach the letters, ignoring the pain. It wasn't until Dudley grabbed his arm and yanked it back hard, that Harry fell back into his seat with a gasp and clutched at his bruised body. Vernon wasted no time in starting the engine and leaving Privet Drive, while Petunia tossed the letters out of her window and into the street.

They drove for hours in what appeared to be a random direction. Vernon had his eyes fixed on the road in front of him and didn't react to any of them, almost as if he wasn't aware that there were other people in the car with him. Every so often, he would change direction sharply and drive that way instead. Apparently, even he didn't know where they were going. Petunia spent most of the journey watching her husband with worried eyes, also ignoring the two boys in the back. Dudley was the loudest. He spent the entire trip complaining about every little thing; he'd missed his favourite TV show, he needed the toilet, he wanted his computer games, he was hungry, he'd missed his other favourite TV show. He even got close to a breakdown at one point, wailing about how unfair his parents were being and smacking at his father's seat with his fists.

Harry blanked out all three of them and stared out of the window, watching the scenery fly past. He was too wrapped up in his own mystery to notice his relatives. Every time something strange happened or another letter showed up, Harry always ended up even more clueless than he was before. It used to be easy to wave off his oddness, since he knew so little about what was happening that he assumed nothing was happening at all. Now, he knew just enough about it to understand that he had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Vernon stopped quite suddenly at a dingy little hotel on the outskirts of a large city and announced that they would be staying here for the night. Harry stepped out and looked up at the building. It was bland and grey, with a worn sign proclaiming it to be the Railview Hotel; an apt name considering it was sat right next to a railway line, though not at all a good location for a hotel. It was the sort of place you would drive past without even noticing it was there, which Harry suspected was why his uncle had chosen it.

They checked in and he and Dudley were given a shared room with a pair of damp, musty beds. His cousin fell asleep almost instantly, but Harry remained awake, sitting on the windowsill and staring out into the cloudy night sky. The room shook lightly and there was a low rumbling sound as a train passed by beneath the window. Harry watched it go by with a thoughtful frown on his face.

It was in this gloomy little room, far away from the confines of his cupboard, that Harry Potter finally sat down and tried to piece together what had been happening to him throughout his life. He started by mentally listing everything he knew was connected to his current situation in an effort to gain some tiny bit of understanding,

'_My parents, how they lived, how they died, how I ended up at the Dursleys', every strange thing that happened in my childhood, my dreams, the zoo, the letters, my kind, those cats._'

He decided to focus on his childhood; before the zoo, before the letters, back when he was just the boy in the cupboard, to whom strange things always seemed to happen. He knew it had to be linked somehow. He tried to remember every detail of the odd events in his life. '_They always happen when I'm angry,_' he thought, '_Or scared or embarrassed. It's like the feeling takes over and then these things just happen, but how do they happen and why?_'

He stood up abruptly and tiptoed past Dudley's snoring form and into the little adjoining bathroom. He flicked the light on and stared at himself in the mirror. Never before in his life had he looked at his own reflection and not recognised the boy that stared back, but the more he seemed to learn about himself, the more that feeling grew. He had to change that.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to recreate the feelings of anger or fear he always felt before something strange happened. He picked a moment, back in Year 4, to build the feeling from. He and Dudley had been in P.E. and his fat cousin was using it as an excuse to be rougher than necessary with the other kids, especially so with Harry. Harry had been getting more and more angry at Dudley as the game went on, but strangely it wasn't his own pain that set him off. Dudley had actually taken a short break from harassing him to go and push around someone else for a bit.

Harry had watched from a distance as other kids were tripped, nipped and shoved by his cousin, well outside of the teacher's view. All of them were too scared to speak out for fear of worse treatment from the boy later. Harry could still remember the look on his cousin's face as he tormented those kids, so much sadistic joy and pride. He could remember the dark feeling which bloomed inside him and how Dudley was suddenly on the floor, clutching a grazed knee and screaming that Harry had pushed him. Harry of course, was punished for using excessive violence in a game.

Back in front of the mirror, present-day Harry screwed his face up in concentration and tried to recall the exact moment it had happened. He brought the image of Dudley's face into his mind and tried to call the same feelings to the surface. He didn't find it hard to make himself angry, annoyed and even violent. His hands balled into fists and he began to shake. He became a torrent of emotions, to the point where he just wanted to punch something, anything.

Finally, he released his held breath and gasped for air. Nothing had happened. He had felt the emotions clearly, but they hadn't overwhelmed him like they usually did. He hadn't felt that rush which came before the event. It wasn't really an emotion, but he didn't know how else to explain it. He hadn't even noticed it was there until a month ago. It was this strange sensation which ran through his entire body and blocked out his thoughts, even if it never lasted for more than a split-second. Normally when it came, he would mistake it for his own anger at the situation, however in the time after the incident with the snake, he'd realised that it was something very different. This time, it hadn't come at all.

Harry wasn't one to give up easy though, so he straightened up and shut his eyes once more. This time, he just began to think about his life. Not a single moment of raw emotion, but his life in general and how terrible it all was. Almost immediately, faces and voices came to his mind. He was three and watching Dudley play with a toy spaceship, while his Aunt sat him in front of an abacus. He was five, on his first day at school, and Dudley was punching him in the gut for getting more questions right than him. He was six and locked in his cupboard, with no meals, for something he didn't understand. He was eight and his Aunt was screaming at him for letting the bacon burn. He was nine and stuck at Mrs Figg's while his relatives went to France for a week. He was ten and being slammed against the wall by his Uncle. He was watching his Uncle burn his letters in the sink. He was listening to his Uncle talk to his Aunt about _his kind_.

It all came to his mind's eye. Moment after moment of misery, pain and confusion. He could see Dudley's piggy little smile when he got something he wanted. He could see Petunia's upturned nose when she spoke to him in her shrill, snappy tone. He could see Vernon's expanding purple face while he fumed at him for something outside of his control. He was fed up. Fed up of how his relatives treated him, how they always seemed to know more about him than he did. He felt the rage flickering to life, so he pushed more memories into the building fire, fuelling the flames inside him. His body tensed and his fingers clutched at the sink hard, turning his knuckles white. He could feel the moment coming and his whole body quivered in anticipation. For some reason, he _knew_ something would happen this time.

Without warning, he could feel it. That strange rushing sensation that left him unable to hear or feel anything else. It arced through his entire body and made it thrum with power. His ears were pounding rapidly in time with his heartbeat, blocking out any kind of outside sound. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he opened his eyes and saw himself glowing in the mirror. An entire second of this passed and the feeling kept growing stronger. Two seconds, three seconds, four seconds, five seconds. The small part of Harry's mind not swallowed by the energy was starting to panic. It had never lasted this long before.

Half a minute passed and Harry was getting scared. His skin was starting to tingle and a faint light was blooming behind his eyelids. He tried to scream, but found that his jaw wouldn't move, nor would any part of his body. Very little of his mind was left now, as the feeling threatened to consume his entire being. The small capability of thought which he retained was repeating the same thing over and over, '_Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop! MAKE IT-_'

_CRACK!_

The feelings were gone. Harry slumped to the floor, unable to keep control of his own muscles. He was panting and wheezing, trying to gulp down as much air as he could. He rested his head back against the sink. Hot tears were trickling down his face and his skin was coated in sweat.

He had never felt like that before in his life. He had simultaneously been filled with that strange power and yet been completely powerless. He had entered this bathroom seeking understanding, but at the moment every second which passed brought him a new volley of questions to which he had no answers. He massaged his temples, where a headache had just kicked in, and tried not to think too much after that- whatever it was just happened. Slowly, he pulled himself off the floor and looked into the mirror.

He should have been surprised. Any normal ten-year-old would be by what they saw, but Harry was so far from normal that he probably would have been more surprised if he found the mirror in the same condition he left it. The surface had been split clean in two by a single jagged line. Harry knew exactly what the shape was. A lightning bolt.

He raised a hand and touched his scar, staring at its exact replica carved on the mirror. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, trying to compose his thoughts and make sense of what had just happened. Before he could even begin to process his experience, a loud rumble cut through the silent air. Frowning, Harry poked his head back into the room. Dudley was sat up, groggily wiping his eyes and looking at the window. It appeared that the same sound had woken him up.

Harry stepped towards the window and looked out into the dark. Raindrops were falling heavily from the sky and hammering against the glass. Looking up, he saw that the sky itself remained unchanged from when he was sat on the sill a minute ago. Out of nowhere, lightning flashed across the horizon and thunder rumbled in the distance, causing Harry to step back and blink away the light. Behind him, his cousin grumbled something under his breath and went quiet, probably already asleep again.

As Harry stared in wonder at the strange storm that seemed to have kicked in randomly, he became aware that the rain was actually dying down. Within three minutes, the world outside was back to same dull grey that it had been before.

Even though this strange occurrence had raised a hundred new questions for Harry, he had for once gained an answer to one of his others. He still had no idea who was sending him letters or who _his kind_ were, but he knew now, for certain, that the strangeness around him was not just coincidence. It was him and it had always been him. He was the cause of it all, but rather than comfort him, this revelation did the exact opposite. He didn't know what exactly had happened while he was stood in front of that mirror, but the echo of that powerlessness still clung to him afterwards. It wasn't just that he didn't understand this power any more, he was starting to fear it.

o0o0o0o

When Harry awoke the next morning, he lay in bed for a good half an hour, mulling over what had happened the previous night. In a few minutes he had gone from being single-mindedly curious about his life, to being awed, overwhelmed and scared by it as well. Part of him still wanted to know what was happening of course, but there was now another part which was slowly growing inside him, which wanted nothing more than to push this away and pretend it had nothing to do with him. He was having trouble deciding which half was more the reasonable one.

After he eventually pulled himself out of bed, Harry made his way downstairs and into the Hotel's cramped dining area. There he found his Aunt and Uncle already awake and sat over a breakfast, which was made up of some cornflakes and a few slices of beans on toast. Harry took the seat furthest from them and grabbed a bowl of cereal. While he munched on the flakes, which tasted like cardboard, he listened to his relatives bicker over their situation.

"I understand," his Uncle was saying, not looking quite as ill as yesterday, "But I still think we should stay on the road for a day or two. We want to be sure that we've thrown them off."

"Vernon, I think you need to calm down," Petunia was saying warily, "All this driving around the country isn't good for Dudders. I'm sure that you've made your point to those people by now, there haven't been any letters this morning have there?"

"I just have to be sure," countered Vernon, "You know what they're like. If an extra day travelling keeps them away from us, then it's worth it. Dudley will forgive us once we're home again and this is all for him anyway. I think even the boy would understand if he knew what these people were like."

Harry looked up when they mentioned him and scowled. The moment of raw emotion from last night had left a big effect on how much of the Dursleys' current attitude he was willing to deal with this morning. "So why won't you tell me?" he asked.

Vernon and Petunia both looked over in surprise, as if noticing his presence for the first time that morning. "Tell you what?" snapped Vernon.

"Who's writing to me," said Harry, "You keep telling me that they're dangerous and you don't want me to talk to them, but you won't tell me why."

"Why should we tell you?" asked his Uncle. Petunia was looking between the two of them cautiously.

"Well they are my letters," Harry shot back, "It's me your dragging across the country and apparently it's _my kind_ who are writing to me. So, give me a good reason why you shouldn't tell me."

"Because I do not want to," said Vernon shortly.

"And I should care about that, should I?" asked Harry scathingly, "I'm not your son, as you're so fond of reminding me."

"No you most certainly are not!" snapped Vernon, his face beginning to colour again, "But you still sleep under _my_ roof, you eat the food off _my_ table, you wear _my son's_ clothes. So you will sit quietly and do as you are told."

"This isn't _your_ roof though," said Harry, pointing upwards, "Or _your_ table. You've dragged us away from all that, remember? So why won't you tell me why we're here. What is it that's got Vernon Dursley running for the hills with his tail between his legs?"

If Harry had been thinking straight, then he would have noticed the multitude of mistakes he had just made with that one sentence, but as it was, his tiredness and anger wouldn't allow him to see anything past his Uncle's fat face.

Vernon rose from his seat and towered over Harry, his face now turning its trademark shade of purple. "Now you listen here, boy!" he hissed, wagging a finger at him, "You-"

"'Scuse me," said a voice to their right.

Vernon turned and opened his mouth, presumably to tell whoever it was to bugger off, but stopped short when he saw the hotel owner stood there. "Yes, what is it?" said Vernon, trying to compose himself.

"I was just wonderin' if one of you was Mr H Potter?" the woman asked.

Uncle Vernon stared at her for a moment, then said, "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you see," she said, reaching into her pocket, "I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk this mornin'."

In her hand was a parchment envelope with emerald writing, which was clearly addressed to:

_Mr H Potter_

_Room 17_

_Railveiw Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

Harry reached out to take it, but Uncle Vernon snatched it away with a stiff "Thank you."

The owner frowned at his poor manners, then asked rather pointedly, "How long did you say you were stayin' again?"

"Oh, I expect we'll be leaving within the hour," said Vernon, both to the woman and to his wife and nephew.

Sure enough, it wasn't forty minutes later that they were back in the car and speeding off down the road. Despite the protests of both Dudley and Petunia, Vernon drove not in the direction of Surrey, but further north. He would change directions even more frequently than before, constantly muttering to himself all the way.

After about an hour of driving, they stopped in the middle of a ploughed field. Vernon climbed out and walked away from the car. He came to a stop and stood with his hands on his hips, where he began to scan his surroundings carefully. Everybody else stood by the car as he alternated between pacing back and forth, circling the car and staring the sky.

"Has Daddy gone mad?" Dudley asked his mother timidly.

"No sweetums," she cooed, though not sounding completely convinced herself, "He's just a bit upset, that's all. He's trying to keep you and Mummy safe from these people."

Harry snorted at that and his Aunt glared at him, "Do you have a problem, boy?" she asked.

"No," said Harry sarcastically, "No, this is just brilliant. I mean, who wouldn't want to be stood in a freezing cold field, while their mad old uncle drags them from one place to the next with no explanation."

His Aunt's glare dropped a bit. It seemed that she wasn't totally inclined to disagree with him, however that didn't stop her from snapping at him not to talk about his uncle that way. He turned away from her and shivered as a cold wind blew through the place. He wrapped his arms around himself and muttered, "Never thought I'd miss the cupboard."

Apparently, this field wasn't what Vernon was looking for, because he ushered them all back into the car after a few minutes and set off again. A similar thing happened two hours later at the top of a multi-storey car park and again halfway across a suspension bridge. They didn't stop properly again until just before sunset. Vernon pulled over in the middle of a thick forest and stepped out to repeat the same routine, only this time, when he returned, he announced that they would be staying here for the night.

It was now clear why Vernon had brought so many provisions with him. He had most likely suspected that the Hotel plan wouldn't work and that they may need to camp out for the night. Dudley wailed at his parents constantly throughout their quick dinner of tinned beans and tomatoes. Petunia looked like she wanted to protest again, however Vernon had returned to his manic obsession with escaping the mysterious letters, so she remained silent. Harry kept entirely to himself and didn't speak to any of them, though he had to bite back several snappy retorts whenever Dudley started moaning again.

Eventually, they all managed to get bedded down for the night. Harry, Dudley and Petunia took the tent, while Vernon slept in the car. For the first time in several nights, Harry was not kept awake by his thoughts and drifted off almost immediately.

o0o0o0o

Harry woke up very suddenly and shot upright in his tattered sleeping bag. He lay back and wiped sweat from his brow. He'd had the dream with the green flash again, minus the parting scream this time. No matter how many times this vision came to him, he didn't think he would ever get used to it.

Deciding that he needed some fresh air, he pulled on his shoes and glasses and tiptoed out of the tent, being extra careful not to wake up his relatives. Once outside, he yawned and stretched, looking up at the night sky. It was still dark and cloudy up there, but Harry took a guess that it was probably very early morning. He was far too awake for it to still be around midnight. He paced around the clearing for a bit, kicking around random rocks in boredom.

He had no idea what Vernon was trying to achieve with this little road trip of his. It would be far easier to get an idea of what was happening if he could get his hands on one of those letters, but there was that part of him which kept insisting that it might be better not understanding. After his experiment in the hotel room, he wasn't quite as disbelieving about his uncle's claims that these people were dangerous.

On his third circuit of the area, he looked back up into the trees and nearly fell over in surprise. At least fifty pairs of eyes were staring down at him from the branches, glowing faintly against the dark leaves. Harry was pretty sure that it wasn't his neighbours' cats this time, so he made his way quickly and quietly back into the tent and grabbed a torch. He flicked on the light and directed it up into the branches.

Sat in the highest branches of every tree, were owls. Big and small, tawny and barn, they came in all shapes and sizes, but they were most certainly owls. Their piercing gaze was fixed on Harry, who suddenly felt very small surrounded by these birds. Out of nowhere, something landed on his head and made him jump backwards with a yell. Shining his torch on the forest floor at his feet, he found it. It was one of the letters.

Without bothering to check the address this time, Harry scooped up the parchment and tore off the seal. A thrill of excitement ran through him as he snapped the purple wax and pulled back the lip of the envelope. He finally had it, he was finally going to learn what was happening. The thought both thrilled and terrified him.

Upon opening the letter, he found that there were actually several pieces of parchment inside. He grabbed the closest one without thinking and unfolded it. The top of the page was printed with the same crest that was on the seal and the letter itself was written in emerald ink.

_Dear Mr H J Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that have been accepted at Hogwarts-_

Harry was unable to read any further as the parchment was snatched from his hands. He looked up and found the face of his uncle not a foot from his own. His eyes were dark and menacing, his face already turning purple.

"Go to the car," he ordered.

"No," said Harry, hoping his voice didn't tremble, "I want that letter." He made a grab for it, but his Uncle held it out of his reach and pushed him away roughly.

"Haven't you been listening, boy?" he snapped, "This letter isn't for you. You are not getting involved with these people. I'm not having you running off to become a-"

Vernon stopped short, having said more than he meant to, but the damage was done. "A_ what_?" asked Harry, "A what, exactly? Who are these people? Why are you so scared of them? What's a Hogwarts?"

If Vernon had been angry before, it was nothing compared to what he was after he heard the word _Hogwarts. _He grabbed a fistful of Harry's jacket in each hand and pulled him close, Harry quivered at the look Vernon gave him and struggled against the grip.

"Get in the car, boy!" he hissed menacingly. Spit flew out of his mouth and hit Harry in the face with every word.

The minute Harry was released, he ran for the car, trying his hardest to get away from his Uncle. Harry had no idea what _Hogwarts_ meant, but apparently his Uncle did and he didn't like it one bit. Harry was mentally screaming at himself. He'd had the letter in his hands, he'd been reading it and he was still no closer to finding out what was happening. All he had was a word which he could add to the growing pile of things which he didn't understand.

Harry watched as Vernon woke his wife and son and they all hurried to pull the tent down. Just as they were finishing, the owls began to screech around them. Suddenly, the Dursleys were being dive-bombed by the birds from all sides. Dudley threw up his arms and ran screaming for the safety of the car, a particularly persistent barn owl chasing him all the way. Vernon and petunia hunched over against the assault and made their slow way in the same direction. The entire scene was so comical that Harry couldn't help but give a small smile, his first since this business with the letters started.

His relatives eventually piled into the car, covered in peck marks and feathers, Dudley even had some owl droppings in his hair. Vernon sped off again into the darkness. They drove for the whole day this time, without stopping for food or toilet breaks. Dudley whined worse than ever.

It was through Dudley's whining that Harry actually gained an interesting piece of information, the date. Since they had left on Sunday, Harry had not been able to keep track of the days, but he overheard Dudley whining about it being Monday, meaning he was going to miss some TV show.

'_If today is Monday,_' he realised, '_Then that means tomorrow is Tuesday the thirty-first, my birthday._'

Most people would be shocked to forget something as important to them as their birthday, however the celebration had never really meant much to Harry, mainly due to the lack of any celebration at all. The Dursleys' rarely remembered the date and even when they did, their presents consisted of nothing more than old socks and bent coat hangers. Occasionally, they would even give him his present on the wrong day. Harry would normally do a little something in his cupboard, drawing a cake with candles to blow out in the dust and humming Happy Birthday to himself.

Finally, Vernon stopped the car on the edge of a rocky coast and told everyone to wait for him to return. When he did, he was grinning like a madman and holding a long, thin package under one arm. He stepped up and told everyone to grab their things.

"I've found the perfect place," he said as he led them down to the shoreline. He pointed out to sea at a tiny speck of land in the distance. "You can't quite see it from here," he said in response to their confused stares, "But there's a little house sat out there. Four walls, a roof, everything we need."

It was clear that Dudley did not agree with his Uncle's assessment of the place and neither did Petunia, from the looks of things. Vernon ignored them and led everyone to an old, wooden rowing boat nearby. He told them that it was forecast for storms tonight, still with that odd grin on his face.

After a very wet and tiring boat journey, in which everyone got soaked by sea spray and rain, they arrived at the island. The house, as Vernon had called it, was little more than a shack that just about made it to two floors. The entire structure looked like one good gust of wind might finish it off. The inside was no better. Cold wind and rain found its way through the gaps in the walls and ceiling and the whole place smelled like seaweed.

They had a short meal of cold beans and a few bags of crisps, then Vernon used the empty packets to try and start a fire in the damp fireplace. After abandoning his efforts, Uncle Vernon pulled four dusty old blankets from a broken cupboard and separated them out. He and Petunia took the single bedroom upstairs, while Dudley curled up uncomfortably on the couch. That left Harry to seek out a spot of floor to sleep on. He settled in one of the corners where there were a few less holes in the walls. Making a makeshift pillow from his bag he laid back, his limbs shivering and his stomach growling.

As the promised storm blew through and made the structure creak and sway on its stony platform, Harry curled up tighter in his corner, trying to trap as much warmth as he could. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that Vernon had made the perfect choice of housing. There was no way that anyone would dare try to deliver a letter out here.

Harry glanced over at Dudley and his eye was caught by the glow of his cousin's watch. The face told him that it was five minutes to twelve. He would be eleven years old in five minutes. While not his most enjoyable birthday ever, it was easily going to be his most memorable.

One minute to go and Harry began to consider waking Dudley up. His cousin would be very angry, but it was his birthday, he needed to celebrate somehow. As he pondered this, he almost missed the moment the watch ticked over to twelve o'clock.

'_That's it,_' Harry thought lying back again, '_I'm eleven. Doesn't really feel that diff-_'

BOOM_._

Harry sat bolt upright and looked over toward the door. The entire building was shaking after the tremendous blow it had just received from outside.

BOOM.

The second hit woke Dudley, who rolled over and fell hard onto the floor in a heap. Harry had stood up and was approaching the door carefully.

BOOM.

It sounded like someone was knocking to come in. A very big someone. Harry looked over as Uncle Vernon came crashing down the stairs with a rifle in his hands. His wife was a few steps above him.

BOOM.

Everyone was staring at the door now. "Who's there!" shouted Vernon, "I demand you tell me who you are!"

_SMASH!_

On the fifth blow, the door finally gave, splintering at the hinges and falling forward with an almighty crash. Dudley screamed and Aunt Petunia shrieked as a gigantic figure appeared in the doorway. The giant stepped through the broken door with one great stride and stood there towering over all of them.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said in a booming voice, as he bent and lifted the door back into its frame with one massive hand.

He turned to face the room again and said, "Couldn' pop the kettle on could yeh? I need a brew after tha' journey."


	6. The Giant and The Letter

**o0o0o0o**

**The Giant and The Letter**

Of all the unbelievable situations which Harry Potter had found himself in over the years, he was quite sure that his current one had just won an award for the most ridiculous. In a dilapidated old shack on a crumbling rock in the middle of the ocean, a giant of a man had just broken down the door and then politely asked for a cup of tea. If that wasn't enough, the scene the giant had stumbled upon was something directly out of a comedy sketch. A large eleven-year-old boy was currently sprawled across the floor, with his limbs tangled together inside his blanket and his fat face and blond hair caked with dirt. The boy's father, a man who usually carried a very imposing presence, was suddenly dwarfed by the appearance of the stranger and was standing in front of the whimpering form that was his wife, brandishing a rifle at the intruder in what was likely meant to be a threatening manner.

The giant didn't seem at all bothered by the strangeness of the image, nor the fact that he was causing most of that strangeness simply by being there. The man's face was obscured almost completely by long tangles of dark hair, which sprouted from both his face and his scalp, however Harry could still make out a pair of black eyes peeking out from inside. He was at least twice the size of a regular man and nearly four times as wide, so large that his head scraped the ceiling and there were few places he could stand without brushing against at least one of the of the walls with his side. The only way Harry could accurately describe him was that he just looked too big to be allowed, making the already tiny room look even smaller. He was garbed in an enormous brown coat, which fell almost to his ankles and was covered in what Harry initially thought were patches, however a closer look revealed that they were actually pockets.

The man made his way to the middle of the room in one great stride, which caused Dudley to let out a terrified squeak and scramble off towards the stairs where his parents were. The giant ignored him and sat himself down on the couch as if it was an armchair. The couch sagged under the weight and Harry could swear he heard some pieces snap inside it.

The man looked around in confusion for a second and then said, "Well? Isn' anyone goin' to offer me a drink? S' not easy gettin' over here, but I reckon yeh already knew that."

After ten years of fetching and carrying for the Dursleys, Harry instinctively moved towards his bag to find some water, but the man brought up a massive hand to stop him. "No no no, not you Harry," he insisted, "It's yer birthday. We can't have yeh runnin' around after me today."

Harry blinked in surprise and looked into the stranger's face. Despite the man's threatening build, up close Harry could see that his face was warm and friendly behind all that hair. He was finding it harder and harder to be afraid of him. "Do you know me?" asked Harry.

The man threw back his head and let out a loud, booming laugh. "Do- do I know yeh?" he said between laughs, "Well o' course I do. How could I not know you, eh?"

Harry wasn't sure what he had said that was funny, but he didn't have the chance to ask any further questions. It seemed that Uncle Vernon had finally snapped out of his trance and was advancing on the intruder with his gun raised.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "What are you doing in my house?"

The giant glanced over his shoulder at the man and chuckled. "Oh, dry up yeh big prune," he said, "But s' true, I haven' introduced meself yet." He turned back to Harry and stuck out one gigantic hand, "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Keys an' Grounds at Hogwarts."

Harry's stomach did a little flip at the word Hogwarts and he reached out gingerly to shake Hagrid's hand, only to pull back when Uncle Vernon jabbed Hagrid in the back with the barrel of his gun.

"I demand that you leave at once!" he ordered, "This is private property and you are breaking and entering!"

Hagrid rolled his eyes and swung one arm back, pushing the gun upwards with ease.

_BANG!_

In his panic, Vernon pulled the trigger and blasted a hole in the ceiling. Bits of wood clattered down and bounced off his head. Hagrid grabbed the gun by the barrel and yanked it out of the other man's hands, then proceeded to bend it into a knot and throw it into the corner.

"Now, where was I?" said Hagrid, while Vernon spluttered behind him, "Oh righ'!" He reached into his coat and pulled out a rather squashed box with red ribbon tied around it, which he then passed over to Harry.

"Happy Birthday Harry," he said, "Blimey, las' time I saw you, yeh were only a baby. Could carry yeh with one hand, I could. Look at yeh now, eh."

Harry looked at Hagrid in disbelief. He had no idea how he was supposed to react to a strange man breaking down the door, scaring his uncle, wishing him a happy birthday and giving him what seemed to be a present.

"Well open it then," urged Hagrid.

Harry started and quickly ripped off the ribbons which tied the box together. As he lifted the lid away, he gasped. Inside, there was a large chocolate cake with the words _Happy Birthday_ written in green icing. He looked up and gaped at the giant, who was wringing his wrists and looking very awkward.

"I- uh- I think I mighta sat on it at some point, but I reckon it should still taste alrigh'."

"Th- Thank you," stammered Harry, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Ah, s' nothin' really," said Hagrid, "Now how bout that tea, eh? Don' s'pose yeh've got a kettle lyin' around, do yeh?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry," he said.

Hagrid waved his hand dismissively, "Don' worry, I've got me own in here somewhere." He reached into his coat again and began removing several objects and arranging them in front of him. There was the copper kettle, but there was also a teapot, several chipped teacups, some teabags, a carton of milk, a poker, and a pack of sausages.

After extracting everything he needed, he knelt by the fireplace and scraped away the remnants of Uncle Vernon's earlier attempts. Harry tried to crane his neck for a better look, but could find no way to see past Hagrid's massive form. Hagrid worked for a minute or two then moved back to reveal a roaring fire in the hearth. It took no more than two seconds for it to bathe the room with flickering light and a welcoming warmth.

Hagrid quickly got back to work and fairly soon Harry was sat with a cup of hot tea, listening to sausages sizzle over the fire. Hagrid slid the first few off the poker and onto one of the paper plates Uncle Vernon had brought with him. He passed them over to Harry, whose nose was immediately filled with the smell of cooked meat. Apparently Dudley could smell them too, he let out a little groan and began to fidget behind his mother. However, Hagrid didn't make any move to offer some to the large boy and neither did Harry, who had already begun stuffing his face with what he was quite certain was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted.

After Harry had gobbled down every last scrap of the meat in front of him, he returned to looking at the giant called Hagrid, who was just starting on his first sausage.

"Excuse me, Mr Hagrid," said Harry.

Hagrid nearly choked on the piece of sausage in his mouth and looked Harry in surprise. "S- sorry," he said after swallowing properly, "Jus' call me Hagrid will yeh, everyone else does."

Harry nodded then continued, "Well, Hagrid, I was wondering if I could ask you about what you mentioned before, about Hogwarts."

Hagrid smiled at him, "Ah yeah, I'll expect yeh'll have plenty o' questions about that won' yeh? Go on, ask away."

Harry nodded again and wondered where to start. He decided on something simple, "What is it?"

"What's wha'?" asked Hagrid.

"Hogwarts," clarified Harry.

Hagrid looked at him with a puzzled expression, then gave a hesitant smile, "Yer jokin' right? I'm sure yeh know all bout Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head. Hagrid looked shocked and his jaw worked for a moment or two with no words coming out, then his eyes darkened and he rose from his seat to face the Dursleys. If he had been intimidating when he entered, it was nothing compared to know. He seemed to fill even more of the room than he did originally, and the three figures cowered under his enormous shadow.

"D'you mean to say that these- these _muggles_ never even told yeh where yer parents learnt it all?" Hagrid's voice was both angry and shocked.

Harry didn't know what a muggle was, but the way Hagrid said it made it sound insulting. At the moment, he didn't particularly care what the word meant, he was far too interested in what Hagrid had said about his parents. "Learnt what?" he asked.

Hagrid looked between him and the Dursleys, his face now even more angry and confused. "Learnt- learnt _what!_" he said, looking appalled, "Did they never tell yeh anythin'? About yer parents or who they were? About their world, _your_ world, _our_ _world_?"

"What world?" asked Harry eagerly, remembering how the Dursleys had referred to _his kind_. Hagrid gaped at him and glanced around as if lost. "Does this have something to do with all those letters I've been getting?" pressed Harry.

"Does it- does-" he sputtered, "DURSLEY!" Hagrid looked ready to explode as he rounded on the smaller man, who pushed his wife and son further behind him in fear.

"Yeh never told him? Bout who he is? Bout _what_ he is?" his voice then took on a desperate tone as he turned back to Harry, "Yeh mus' know that at least. Tell me they told you what yeh are."

"What am I?" said Harry, quivering with anticipation at finally receiving answers to his questions.

"STOP!" cried Uncle Vernon, finally finding his voice and bravely stepping towards the giant, "I forbid you from telling the boy anything else!"

Hagrid spun around and grabbed Mr Dursley by the front of his night-shirt with both hands, lifting him up and off the ground until they were at eye-level with each other. Petunia and Dudley screamed and Harry took a step back in shock.

"Yeh don' get to boss me 'round _Dursley!" _he said forcefully, "I'm only tellin' him what you should've told him years ago. I was there, I saw the letter Professor Dumbledore left, I was the one who left little Harry on your _bleedin'_ doorstep!"

"That was _you_," gasped Harry.

"Yeah, that was me all righ' an' I tell yeh, I wouldn' have dared put yeh down if I knew what this lot were like." Hagrid slowly, but roughly, lowered Vernon to the ground, where he scuttled away back to where his family were stood. Hagrid lumbered over to the coach and sat down again. He ran a hand down his face and turned to Harry, who was watching him with undivided attention.

"Right then," Hagrid said, "Where to start. Well- I s'pose it wouldn' be right fer me to beat 'round the bush any more than that lot already have," he jerked his head over towards the Dursleys, who all flinched, "So I'm just goin' to say it- Harry, yer a wizard."

Silence followed his words, as everyone in the room subconsciously held their breath. Perhaps, somewhere in the deepest parts of their minds, they could sense the true importance of this moment. The only noises which could be heard were the soft crackle of the fire and the whistle of the wind, which caused the house to creak and sway around them. The Dursleys were all staring at Hagrid with a mixture of fear and shock. Hagrid was looking at Harry expectantly, obviously understanding the weight of the three words he had just said. Harry just stared, his mind still trying to catch up with everything that had happened since the giant walked in.

After a few seconds, which felt like hours, Harry finally regained his voice and said, "I- I'm a _what_?"

"A wizard," repeated Hagrid, smiling, "An' I reckon yeh'll be a thumpin' good'un one day too, after yeh've been trained up a bit, o' course. That's what Hogwarts is for though."

"It is?" asked Harry, bewildered.

"Here," said Hagrid, reaching into his coat and pulling out an envelope, "I reckon this'll explain it all a lot better than I could."

Harry took the letter with shaking fingers and took his time to inspect it. On one side it bore the address, which, once again, was far more accurate than it needed to be.

_Mr H Potter_

_The Floor_

_The-House-On-The-Rock_

_The Sea_

He flipped it over and stroked the seal. This little piece of wax was all that remained between him and his letter. Then, he did something quite odd.

He hesitated.

After so long franticly trying to find out what this letter contained, now that he finally held it in his hands, with nothing stopping him from ripping it open and finding out exactly what information it held, he felt uneasy. His mind drifted back to a tiny bathroom in a dingy little hotel in Cokeworth, to his Uncle constantly warning him away from these people. His breathing began to quicken and he swallowed, forcing himself back into the present. Without stopping another moment to think, he tore away the lip and reached inside. Just like the one in the forest, there was more than one sheet of parchment. He quickly dug out the same one as before and unfolded it.

This time, he stopped to examine the coat of arms printed at the top of the page first. The Letter 'H' in the centre was black against gold and the shield upon which it sat was much more colourful than he had originally thought. The top-left quarter was red with a golden lion, in the top-right was a silver snake backed by green, the bottom-left was a black badger and a yellow background and in the bottom-right was a bronze eagle against a blue field. Beneath the crest were four words in what looked like Latin.

_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus._

Moving his eyes down past the motto, Harry began to read the letter proper.

_Dear Mr H J Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as of the first account of accidental magic performed at the residence of 4 Privet Drive on 18 September 1984._

_You will find enclosed with this letter a list of all necessary books and supplies for the year, as well as your ticket for the Hogwarts Express._

_Term will begin with the Sorting Ceremony on 1 September and we await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_(Please note that this rule may be overlooked under special circumstances, if the potential student has been raised by non-magical parents/guardians)_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House_

Harry read the letter through three times to make sure he wasn't dreaming. A hundred-thousand questions had burst to the forefront of his mind, one after the other. His mind focused on the one part of the letter which had left him reeling the most.

"Accidental magic?" he read aloud.

"Yeh ever notice anythin' strange happen, when you were angry or scared," prompted Hagrid.

Harry looked up at him, "You mean that all those times that I- that I _did_ something without realising. That was _magic_?"

"Yep," said Hagrid cheerily, "You see, yeh can't learn to be a wizard if yer just any old muggle. Witches an' wizards are born with magic in 'em an' when yer younger s' harder to keep a lid on it all, 'specially when yer brought up by muggles."

Harry felt a little bit odd at the realisation that he had apparently been casting spells all his life without realising. Trying desperately to find something to hold onto as his image of what was real crumbled around him, he asked, "What's a muggle?"

"Oh, er, non-magic folk," said Hagrid, "Like yer Aunt an' her lot over there." He jerked a thumb over to where the Dursleys stood in the corner.

"But- but Hagrid I can't be a wizard," protested Harry weakly, "There's no such thing."

"No such thing?" chuckled Hagrid, "Who told yeh that, eh? The muggles?"

"Well yes," admitted Harry, feeling a bit lost now, "But it's just common sense, there's what's real and what's not. Even I know the difference between-"

He trailed off and his eyes widened as the pieces fell into place inside his head. He turned to the Dursleys. "You_ knew_," he said, "Both of you. You knew that I was different. That I was a- a _wizard_. That's why you made me watch the news and read all those fact books. That's why you wouldn't let near anything that wasn't real. You didn't want me to figure any of this out."

"Of course we knew," spat Petunia suddenly, "How could we not? Ever since you started with your- _freakishness._ My sister was just the same when she was your age. Then she met that- that _boy _and went off to that school of hers. She'd come home every summer spouting all this nonsense about magic. I told her- even then I told her, that she was mixing with the wrong people, with _freaks_. Then, of course, she goes and gets herself_ blown up_, along with her freak life and her freak husband, just as I always said she would."

"Blown up?" said Harry, who had gone a bit pale, "Y-you told me that my Dad was a drunk, that they died in a car crash."

"CAR CRASH!" thundered Hagrid, "Lily an' James Potter killed by a car crash! An' what's all this rubbish 'bout him bein' a drunk? S' an outrage is what it is, a _scandal_."

"He may as well have been," responded Vernon, "Taking a young girl from a nice, respectable family and turning her into a freak like him. The most we hoped was that we could cut all ties to them and live as normal people, but you couldn't even let us have even that luxury could you? You had to go and drop that boy on our doorstep and get us wrapped up in the whole bloody thing. I tell you, I don't know about all this magic business, but you lot are dangerous and I don't want you or your war anywhere near my family."

Harry blinked at the speech his Uncle had just spouted. It sounded far too personal for it to just be about his mum and dad. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else his Uncle was hiding. "What war?" he asked.

"_Bloody_ scandal," muttered Hagrid, "I never expected this. Harry Potter not knowin' his own story. I could pick any random wizard off the street an' still be sure tha' they knew all about yeh."

"About me?" said a perplexed Harry, "But, why?"

"S' a long story," said Hagrid, taking a seat again, "An' I reckon I'm not the best person to tell it, but someone has to. S' not fair fer yeh to go any longer without knowin'. Mind you there's not tha' much to know, most of it's still a big mystery, see. Well, I guess it starts with- with You-Know-Who."

"Sorry," Harry apologised again, "No, I don't."

"Ah, o' course yeh don't," said Hagrid, "Blimey, this is harder than I thought. Well, there was this man. A wizard, who went- bad. Very bad. As bad as any other ever went. Worse most likely."

"Who was he?" asked Harry curiously.

"No one really knows," shrugged Hagrid, "S' like he just popped up out the ground one day. Some say he's not even human, but I don't believe that. Anyway, he started to wander across Europe, cursing families, tormenting Muggles. He was like a living ghost story at first, nobody knew what to believe about him. As he got more powerful, people from all over started to hear bout him. Mos' were scared o' course an' righ'ly so, but others thought he had the righ' idea. He got himself followers an' that's when the trouble really started." Hagrid shivered.

"What happened," asked Harry.

"Dark days, Harry. Dark Days," said Hagrid seriously, "Nobody knew who to trust. Didn' dare talk to strangers or even some who yeh already knew. Anyone could've gone dark. Wasn' long before everyone knew his name."

"What is it?" Harry breathed, engrossed by the story.

"Well- well I don't like sayin' it to be honest. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' Gargoyles," said Hagrid, "Harry, if yeh'd have grown up with wizards yeh'd never even think to ask tha' question. I s'pose it doesn' really matter much now, but people are still scared."

"Well, could you write it down," suggested Harry.

"Nah, I can' spell it," said Hagrid, "Alright, It's- Vol-" he faltered and took a deep breath, "_Voldemort_."

Harry was suddenly assaulted by a strange feeling. Something about the name, it's shape and tone, grated against him. He shivered despite himself. Hagrid looked as if something disgusting had been forced down his throat and shuddered in revulsion.

"Don't make me say it again," said Hagrid firmly and Harry nodded in agreement, "So, this- this wizard had gotten himself a powerful followin' now, some rose up against him an' pretty soon people started callin' it a war. That went on for- oh, must've been bout eleven years- till one day, somethin' happened an' this is where it gets really strange."

"What was it?" asked Harry, thinking that the entire story had been strange to him.

"Well, yer mum an' dad were great wizards Harry," said Hagrid delicately, "An', better than tha', they were good 'uns too. They were part o' the group which stood up to You-Know-Who. Nobody knows why he decided to go to yer house, but that's what he did. Showed up on Halloween night, alone fer once. An' yer Mum an' Dad fought. Th-they were great Harry, really they were but- but they didn' stand a chance, he just-"

Hagrid paused to pull out a spotted handkerchief and blow his nose loudly. Harry gulped, he had a feeling he knew what was coming.

"S-sorry- I- I jus'," Hagrid sniffled, "He killed 'em. You-Know-Who killed 'em both. An' then he turns his wand on you, doubt he even hesitated to kill you too, even if yeh were only a baby, but-"

Hagrid looked back up at Harry with watery eyes.

"Somethin' went wrong," he said, "I don' think even Dumbledore knows what happened, but his curse rebounded. He'd killed men, women and children before an' none o' them survived, but you- somethin' bout you did him in. It tore yer house to shreds an' he didn' walk out alive, but you weren' touched. 'Cept o' course for tha' cut on yer head."

Harry raised a hand to the scar on his forehead. His dream flashed through his mind; a flash of green light and a terrible high-pitched scream. The thought made him feel a bit dizzy.

"You didn' think yeh got tha' from a _car crash_ did yeh?" said Hagrid, "That's the kind o' mark yeh get when a really dark curse hits yeh. That's why everyone knows yer name. You were the one who stopped the war, yeh migh' as well be a hero in our world."

Harry was definitely feeling dizzy now. He staggered backwards a bit and planted his back against the wall to stop himself from falling to the floor. He had known for a long time that he was different, but not in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined something like this. He was having serious trouble processing everything that had been dumped on him in the past few minutes.

"Yeh all right?" Hagrid asked with concern.

"M' fine," said Harry weakly, he took a deep breath, "I'm fine."

Hagrid looked at him sadly, "Took yeh from the ruined house meself," he continued, "Kept yeh out o' sight for a bit while Dumbledore sorted some stuff out, then brought yeh straight to this lot." He jerked his head over at the Dursleys.

"You see," said Vernon, "You see what I was saying, boy? These people are dangerous. Oh, you might go off and learn how to turn mice into teacups or some other nonsense, but at some point you'll meet the same sticky end that your parents did."

For the second time that night, Harry found himself struggling not to agree with his Uncle. After all, he had first hand experience with how dangerous magic could be.

"Rubbish," snorted Hagrid, "All right, some wizards go bad an' magic isn' always safe, but I bet my coat that s' no differen' in the muggle world."

Hagrid also made a good point. Harry remembered all the times he's been locked in his cupboard or beaten by Dudley. Muggles weren't all good either, but they didn't have magic. His throat constricted slightly when he thought back again to his own experiments with the power.

Hagrid was looking at him warily. "Oh no," he said, "Oh, Harry yer not listenin' to them are yeh? Believe me, yeh'll love it at Hogwarts, an' the _magic_..." Hagrid's eyes suddenly lit up, "Magic is incredible. There's jus' no way to describe the firs' time yeh use it. S' like- like yeh've come alive fer the firs' time, like- like- ah, I don' know. I'm no good with words, but trust me on this."

'_Trust him?_' repeated Harry silently, '_I don't even know him really, but he's told me more about myself in the last ten minutes than the Dursleys have in ten years._'

He looked into the giant's eyes. There was something there, in that gaze, which Harry had never seen before. Pride was easily identified and that made Harry feel a bit lighter, but his teachers had sometimes looked proud and he had learned quite quickly that it didn't mean much in the end. However, there was something else there that took Harry a moment to place; respect. Hagrid looked at him like they were equals. It was strange to meet an adult who didn't look down at him and it made a warmth bubble up in his chest. As strange as it sounded, Harry did find himself trusting this man.

"Well he's not going," snapped Vernon, making Harry jump, "I am not having a- a wizard in my house. We've all had quite enough of this magic business."

"Oh an' I suppose a great big muggle like yerself is goin' to stop him, are yeh?" said Hagrid, "Sit down Dursley, yeh don' get a say in this. If he doesn' want to go, fine. If he does- well if he does, he'll be off to one o' the finest schools o' Witchcraft an' Wizardry in the world. He'll be under one o' the greatest wizards ever to live an' the best headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen."

"I'm not paying to have some crackpot old fool teach him_ magic tricks_!" yelled Vernon.

Even before Hagrid moved Harry knew that his uncle had made a mistake. His eyes darkened and he reached into his coat, drawing a flowery pink umbrella like a sword and pointing it at the smaller man's throat.

"NEVER!" he roared, "Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of _me_!"

With a wild shout in some strange language, Hagrid swished the umbrella through the air and pointed it straight at Dudley. There was a rushing sound and a flash of violet light, then a bang like a firecracker when it hit the boy. The three Dursleys all let out a scream and Dudley clapped a hand to his bottom, where a curly pig's tail had just sprouted. The fat boy ran upstairs as fast as he could and his mother followed behind him immediately. Uncle Vernon gave one last terrified look at the umbrella, then bolted after his wife and son.

Harry, who had so many times commented on Dudley's resemblance to a pig, burst out laughing at the sight.

Hagrid didn't seem to find the situation as amusing. "Shouldn' have lost me temper," he said, "Didn' work anyway. I meant to turn him into a real pig."

"M-maybe it's because he- he all ready looks too much like one to begin with," laughed Harry.

Hagrid grunted ambiguously, but grinned down at Harry. "So, uh," he said nervously, "Yeh do still wan' to go to Hogwarts don' yeh? I mean, yeh looked like yeh were havin' doubts earlier is all."

Harry finally managed to get control of his laughter and sat down on the now very delicate coach. He was currently feeling very confused about the whole situation. On the one hand, he did trust Hagrid and the idea of training to become a wizard made him quiver with excitement. On the other hand, he still struggled to shake off his memory of the last time he'd tried to use magic.

"Hagrid," said Harry, "You said that all of those odd things that happened to me were me doing magic without realising."

"Yep," said Hagrid, "S' nothin' to worry about though. Like I said, every wizard goes through this when they're a kid. We call it _accidental magic_. Plenty o' grown witches an' wizards have done it too, when they've los' their tempers or somthin'."

"But- but what if did something that wasn't an accident?" said Harry in a rush, "What if- what if I knew that I was doing something and- and I couldn't control it?"

Hagrid was looking at him strangely. "Y-yeh didn', did yeh Harry?" he asked worriedly, "Harry, tha' was ruddy dangerous. Yeh really shouldn' try somethin' like that 'till yeh've been trained up."

Harry gulped. "So, will it always be like that when I do magic?" he asked.

Hagrid shook his head. "No no," he assured him, "Once yeh've got a wand and yer casting proper spells, yeh won' even feel it. I can' really explain it tha' well, but s' one o' the firs' things yeh'll get taught at Hogwarts."

"So- I'm not- weak am I?" he asked nervously.

"O' course not," said Hagrid, "Blimey Harry, the fact tha' you could even do somethin' like tha' without knowing the firs' thing about magic is ruddy impressive, even if yeh really shouldn' have."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. His biggest fear had been that he would burn himself to a crisp the first time he tried to cast a spell, though he wasn't sure if he was more afraid of the burning part or the embarrassment at being such a terrible wizard.

"I guess I better get myself a wand then," smiled Harry.

Hagrid beamed at him. "Ah, we'll worry 'bout all tha' in the mornin'," he said, "Fer now, you need to get some rest. Here," Hagrid tossed him the enormous coat and Harry nearly collapsed under the weight, "There's a few dormice in the pockets, so it migh' wriggle a bit, but it'll keep yeh warmer than one o' those." He gestured at the ragged blankets in disgust.

Harry thanked Hagrid and curled up under the thick coat, which was so large it covered his whole body. He had expected to stay awake all night thinking about what had happened, but the whole conversation had left him so exhausted that he was asleep almost as soon as he put his head down.


End file.
